The InDark
by Mediancat
Summary: Daria Faith Morgendorffer, needing to figure out who she is, goes on a road trip with Jane Lane; in the meantime, something is really ticked with Daria for ruining its plans . . .
1. Two I's

This is the fourth story in my series, "Have Faith," after _April 10, 1997, The Sum of Their Parts_, and _That's What You'll Take to the Grave_.

Daria Lynn Morgendorffer (which seems to be fan-canon, and reasonable to me) is Daria pre-April 10, 1997. Faith is Daria's alternate identity from April 10, 1997 until Glory merged them. Daria Faith Morgendorffer is who she is now.

When I need to distinguish between old Daria and new Daria, I will use the middle names.

_Daria_ was created by Glenn Eichler and Susie Lewis Lynn; _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ was created by Joss Whedon. Samuel R. Delany wrote Dhalgren; the first line of the fic is a direct quote. And remember, in my universe, Lawndale, Maryland replaces Westminster, MD, and the Cranberry Mall is real; the other two mall names were the ones given the local mall in _Daria._

X X X X X

_to wound the autumnal city._

_So howled out for the world to give him a name._

_The in-dark answered with wind._

_All you know I know:_

_-- _The first lines of _Dhalgren_, Samuel R. Delany

X X X X X

_Here I am and am no I._

Not quite, thought Daria Faith Morgendorffer. But Delany put it better than she could. 'course, when he wrote it, he had more experience than Daria did – actual and agewise. In her case, it's here I am and am two I's.

She'd say four eyes, but she hadn't been wearing glasses in quite a while now. Not since Mayor Dick got her that Lasik surgery.

Faith had had conflicting feelings about Mayor Richard Wilkins; the man had used her, but he'd also shown her a genuine parental affection, the kind she'd always felt she'd lacked from her own folks. Daria's opinion of the former Mayor was a good deal lower; but then, she'd never liked bureaucrats and hated the fact that for any length of time she, under any circumstances, had worked for a real supervillain. Reason was, of course, is that Faith's memories were false; as she'd been born Daria Morgendorffer. And while Jake and Helen Morgendorffer had been imperfect parents, they'd never been close to as neglectful or cruel as Faith's false memories would have had it be.

Doc Vaughn had said that Faith probably cobbled those memories together to avoid having to think about what had really happened. It made sense to Daria. She would never remember more than scattered moments of April 10, 1997, and by far preferred it that way. A little knowledge, in this case, is not a dangerous thing.

'cause a lot of knowledge had ended with her nearly punching her way out of a jail cell. That was Daria Lynn, not Daria Faith; but she would not take that risk again.

She would not fucking hurt people. Ever.

With anything besides her wit. Which was a deadly weapon all of its own, but at least it's one she didn't have to register.

Of course, she was no I, and two I's, all at once. She felt more like Daria Lynn Morgendorffer than Faith Lehane. And still, slightly, like Buffy Summers. But, though she'd been involuntarily integrated for a good month, she still didn't know, exactly, who Daria Faith Morgendorffer was.

Exactly might be too much to hope for. But so far she'd had other things to do. Helping B handle Glory. Protecting Cameron Kim against the early assaults of Wolfram & Hart (though Angel's ploy to take the fight directly to Gavin Park seemed to be working, so far, from the last she'd heard.)

Watching Willard Jay Harbaugh, the SOB who'd murdered her family, die.

Confirming that his role in determining her identity was over.

Finishing up _Dhalgren_.

Now, except for _Dhalgren, _she was done.

And now – now she was going to try to figure out who she was. What parts of her were Daria, what parts Faith, and what the whole – the sum of the parts – came to.

What she wanted to do, beyond vampire slaying, which was more or less mandatory.

And yeah, the idea of hitting the open road "to find yourself" was quite 1960s. But the alternatives were to go through therapy, and the only psychiatrist she trusted was Doc Vaughn – and, to be honest, she viewed their bond as something other than shrink-patient and knew the Doc did as well; or to go to a cabin in the woods like Thoreau had.

She'd joked, way back when, about setting up a Montana Cabin Fund, but she'd never gotten around to it, not that Helen Morgendorffer would have let her get away with it, anyway.

Left to herself, she might do just that. Daria Faith Morgendorffer could deal with people better than Daria ever had, but it didn't mean she liked it a whole hell of a lot. But there was no "left to herself" anymore. "Vampire slayer" took care of that. She joked, sometimes, that her conscience would hold her back if she had one; but she always had. People always thought that being cynical came from not giving a shit. Not true. Life would have been easier, if she'd been a sociopath. Fuck, probably why Faith had done her best to bury her own conscience and go that route. But she couldn't fake not giving a shit forever.

But she did give a shit. That was the problem, that so many other people didn't. And overexposure to "go along to get along" or "in it for the money" or "I'd help you, but what would everyone else say" could turn anyone from an idealist into a bitter observer on the human condition.

The problem with common human beings is that they're so damned common.

Over the course of her fairly young life, Daria Lynn Morgendorffer had developed into what she called an egalitarian elitist. Everyone should be equal under the law, no exceptions.

But some people were better than others. And, yeah, she was one of them.

That did not give her the right to do anything about it. One of Faith's other issues is that she thought she should have been treated better than she was, because she had the power, and might made right.

It sure as hell didn't.

Anyway. More issues, more questions than could be dealt with on a motorcycle trip across the country, even if she had managed to put Willard Jay Harbaugh behind her once and for all a few days back.

That's why she was coming back to Lawndale. There were four people in the world she really liked and trusted. Angel was needed in LA. B was needed in Sunnydale. And Lynette Vaughn had a husband. Doc Vaughn could spare a week or so, and had, but an open-ended road trip to fuck-all nowhere, hell no, and Daria wouldn't ask her. (Partly 'cause she thought the Doc might just say yes, anyway.)

Angel _understood_; B _related_; Doc Vaughn _cared._

The fourth one was here -- well, about five miles up Baltimore National Pike, in Lawndale, Maryland. Jane Lane. Daria had connected with Jane entirely on her own, without having any forced connection, like it'd been with Angel, B, and the Doc.

This meant something to Daria. Meant more that Jane was willing to go with her.

Here was the turnoff, just past the Cranberry Mall. If you looked, you could see the imprints of the previous names: Cranberry Commons and Lawndale Mall. Why they'd changed it so many times, she had no idea. Wasn't like people would look up at and say, "New name. Damn. Never been in there before."

And now, Stately Lane Manor.

Time to get this show on the road, so to speak.

X X X X X

Down the street but still within view of Jane's place, a man said, "And this'll make me tough?"

The other with him said, "Oh, yes."

"Tough enough to play football again?"

The other said, "Oh, most definitely. You will be fast. You will be tough! You will be strong! And aaaall your injuries will be healed."

"Okay, I'm in. What do I have to do?" the man asked.

"I have difficulty manifesting. I shouldn't, but I do. I had a plan -- a plan she wasn't part of. Get her out of the way and I should be able to get things back the way they were supposed to be. Things will be smooth again! And orderly! Just like they should be, in Laaawndale, and the world. You have to kill her. Just hold still."

The other drifted closer, then over, the man. When it drifted away, he felt like he could run through anyone and anything. "And I have to kill the bitch over there?"

"Yes. My followers are underground. They will find you. Tell them what to do."

"No problem. Tell me one more thing."

"If I can."

"Why do you look like my old principal? I mean, she's dead. She fell off the roof of the library. My agent made me go to her funeral."

"It got your attention, didn't it? Now wait for my followers, and then kill the girl. I'll be back when you do."

"Don't worry. When Tommy Sherman promises something, Tommy Sherman delivers!"

X X X X X

Glory drained Ms. Li's mental structure during "The Sum of Their Parts." Assume that, while Glory, Doc, and Glory's minions were fighting our heroes, Ms. Li fell off the library roof.

And Tommy Sherman was an arrogant, sleazy ex-Lawndale High football player showcased in the Daria episode "The Misery Chick." In that episode, after an argument with Daria, he stormed onto the football field and was crushed by a falling goalpost which was to be renamed in his honor. Obviously, here, he survived.


	2. Pizza Run

Yes, you guessed who the main villain was. But this is a substantially weakened main villain, with fewer followers than in an altered universe a year and a half in the future, so it's not quite the same.

X X X XX

Jane Lane looked into the driveway when she heard the motorcycle, then checked her watch. "Figures," she said wryly. "She said she'd be here at around 4 PM on June 29, 2002, and by golly, here she is, and it's 3:59. I'd tease her about being a minute early, but she'd probably just tell me my watch was fast."

The TV said, "They're back from the dead - and they're holding up banks! Robbin' zombies, next on _Sick, Sad World_!" Jane flipped off the TV and headed downstairs.

Jane had been happy to get Daria's calls in the past few days. Really. But this still wasn't quite the Daria she'd connected with on the plane from Los Angeles. It was kinda sorta but not entirely. She was still quite the cynic, that little Daria Faith Morgendorffer; but now she was a cynic who cussed and showed emotion on seemingly random words. Kind of unusual to hear a monotone maybe three-quarters of the time and cussing in a Boston accent the rest.

Not that Jane had an objection to cussing; heavens no. But it was evidence that Daria had been, in a very real sense, two people, and still wasn't sure how the pieces added up.

For her part, Jane was still willing, and hoping, that the pieces added up to something remotely interested. Her high school years had contained exactly three people whom she respected on any kind of intellectual level - and Mack had turned out to be, briefly, one of the bad guys, though he seemed to have gotten over it.

And really, there wasn't much holding her to Lawndale anymore except Casa Lane itself, and it had managed without most of its nominal owners for years. The last time her wandering parents had wandered through town, she'd browbeaten them - with a little help from Trent - into paying the mortgage up for two years in advance. Small enough recompense for nearly getting them kicked out of the place her sophomore year, but fortunately she'd compromised her dignity enough to convince the bank people to give them one more month when they came a-knocking on the front door.

It had occurred to her many times that one shouldn't have to argue one's parents into doing the minimum necessary work to be counted as vaguely responsible, but she'd long since become accustomed to the fact that Trent was the only member of the family besides her whose sense of responsibility reached even that level.

Now he was on a summer tour with the Spiral - things were going well, so far, but no contract yet - and she was trying to make a living selling her art. Half her time she spent making art in the styles of the Old Masters for a place called Gary's Gallery in Baltimore; and the other half on her work. She'd made more profit from the former than the latter, dammit, but enough on her own that she wasn't completely discouraged.

And she had managed to score that showing in Sunnydale, California, even if the woman who'd judged her fit had died, leaving the place in the hands of someone who thought big-eyed Mexican children were the height of artistic taste.  
Still, she had a good chunk of change stored up - enough to let her go on this road trip with Daria, anyway. Enough to let figure out where things stood.

And there was the knock on the door. Time to get this show on the road.

X X X X X

The door was answered on the third knock. "State your business," Jane said.

"Killing vampires and the people who become them."

"Oh, that's too bad. We were going for 'eating pizza," Jane said. "But we do have a lovely array of parting gifts."

"My parting gift's gonna be a boot to your hindquarters if you don't let me in."

Jane stepped back and said, "If you can."

Walking in, Daria said, "You remembered that part of it."

"Hey," Jane said, "Learning that the ghoulies and goblins and long-legged beasties and things that go bump in the night are real doesn't happen every day. I have no desire to die a second sooner than I'm supposed to."

"Smart move," Daria said.

"How'd things go in Texas?"

"Saw a man die. Twisted the knife a little beforehand. Not that I think he thought about it then, or is thinking about it now."

Jane snorted. "Not a believer in the afterlife, huh?"

"Nope. Vamps exist, magic exists, and I sure as shit exist, but One Above All? Naah. I've seen too much to think otherwise. You?"

As they walked to the kitchen, Jane said, "Never really thought about it that much. I suppose I think there's something out there, I'm just not sure who or what or whether they care about us at all." She sat down. "Want some pizza?"

Daria looked at the table, blank of everything except a free-form sculpture, and said, "I guess they changed the shape during my years in the joint."

"Ha ha, Morgendorffer. I was going to suggest we go to Pizza King."

"Has your well-trained army of garden gnomes been attaching the necessary sidecar to my bike?"

"Nope," Jane said. "I save the garden gnomes for when I need people quietly murdered."

"Smart of you. So, no on the sidecar, huh?"

Jane shook her head and then said, "Walking distance. Only a bit over a mile. Shouldn't take us that long." She quirked a smile and said, "Besides, with your superpowers, you can probably run it in two minutes flat."

Thinking, Daria said, "Dunno if I ever measured my speed, but I don't think Slayers can actually run faster than ordinary people. We can probably maintain it for longer, though."

"I'm up for running it if you are," Jane said. "It's the one semi-athletic thing I do fairly well. Just let me put on a pair of sneakers."

"Are you challenging me?"

Another quirked smile. "Nothing so formal. Just like to see what I'm dealing with. Already seen you fight. I have no illusions that you couldn't kick my butt from here to next Tuesday if you wanted to."

"Why? What happens next Tuesday?"

"That's when the garden gnomes get back." She finished putting on a pair of sneakers. "Ready when you are."

X X X X X

They jogged to the place together, for the most part. "Don't hold back on my account, Morgendorffer," Jane said.

"I thought you wanted to eat pizza and not dust, yo," Daria said.

"Yes, but I also said I wanted to see what you were capable of," Jane said. "The shopping center's two blocks ahead. Don't hold back on my account."

"Hey, it's your funeral," Daria said, smiling slightly to let Jane know that she didn't really mean it. Then she began to sprint. After going fifty feet or so, she turned around and saw a grim smile on Jane's face; she'd begun sprinting as well.

Daria still beat her to the front of Pizza King by a good 45 seconds or so. By the time Jane showed up, Daria had posed herself leaning casually against the wall, saying, "What took you so long?"

Panting, Jane said, "Bite me, Morgendorffer."

"First dust, then me. You gotta make up your mind. What exactly are you in the mood to eat?"

"Right now, a little crow, though I did ask for it."

"Wonder if they have that as a topping?" Daria said, nodding towards the Pizza King door.

"I don't see why not," Jane said. "I've seen people get strawberries and whipped cream. And this is with the processed cheese and tomatoey sauce." At Daria's raised eyebrows, she said, "Honest injun. It was a bet among the members of the football team. Kevin – the quarterback – won. Of course, the team had to forfeit the next game because the team members couldn't leave the bathroom for the next three days."

"They were that fucking stupid?" Daria asked.

"Heh. Their collective IQ, except for Mack –"

"Mack the knight?" Daria remembered the one member of the Knights of Byzantium who had seemed like a halfway decent human being. He'd had his mental structure drained by Glory, but Willow had managed to restore him.

Then she'd figured out a way to restore everyone, except for Daria, who'd decided to stay Daria Faith rather than splitting back to Daria Lynn and Faith. Sneaking Red into the local mental ward had been a bitch and a half; the locals weren't nearly as clueless as the inhabitants of Sunnydale. Of course, people in decade-long comas weren't that clueless.

"One and the same," Jane said as they entered the shop. "Anyway, combined they were about as smart as your average sea urchin. And not nearly as much fun to talk to. Once we had to forfeit another game because they drank themselves into an UltraCola stupor." Daria had never heard of UltraCola; maybe it was a regional brand.

They ordered a large pepperoni and sausage and sat down to wait for it. "Oh, no," Jane said. "I was hoping he'd gotten arrested by now. Do me a favor. Don't turn around and try to look inconspicuous."

"Sorry; Slayer powers don't include invisibility," Daria said. "Why? Is this someone likely to start trouble?"

"Trouble by your definition? No," Jane said. "He's not going to attempt to murder anyone or sacrifice them to their dark gods. Hit on us, though, that's a different story." She buried her head in her hands. "Too late. He's spotted us."

Now Daria looked, and saw someone who appeared to be Howdy Doody grown up and come to life walking towards them. "If my eyes fail me not, it's the delectable Jane Lane," he said. "And who is this lovely lady?" he added, looking at Daria.

Ah. Resident sleazeball. Every place had them.

"I'm Daria," she said. "And you were just leaving."

"But," he protested in a voice that came across like the worst casting for James Bond, ever, "I just got here. Surely I should be giv—aaack!"

The scream happened because Daria had gotten up and brought the man's forearm up, behind his back, until it was maybe inches short of breaking. "I didn't hear me asking a question," she said. "Jane, you hear a question?"

Jane, who had a shocked look on her face, recovered quickly and said, "Nope. No question here. If I were you I'd take the lady at her word, Upchuck." _Upchuck_?

"Ow!" he said, practically whining. "Okay! I will!"

"Good. 'cause I really don't want to see you near me, or Jane, again. Should the building catch on fire and we're in front of the exit, I expect to see you go through the window. At the far side of the store." She released the arm. "You got me?"

"I got you," he said, rubbing his arm. As he walked away, he said, "Feisty!" but since he was walking away, Daria didn't see the point in chasing after the idiot.

Right then, she noticed that other people were looking at her. One or two were clapping. She bowed slightly and said in an even tone, "Thank you, and this concludes this episode of 'what to do about sleazy Don Juans" theatre. But be sure to tune in tomorrow for another exciting episode."

The pizza was dropped off as soon as Daria sat down by a clerk who didn't linger to accept thanks. Upchuck, meanwhile, had moved over the counter, where he kept sending nervous glances Daria's way. Least, they'd damn well better be nervous glances.

Daria tore into a slice and was through it and going for a second one when Jane said, "You realize that didn't actually stop him, right?"

"As long as he knows I can break his arm without breaking a sweat, I think he'll behave himself. If he leers when I ain't looking, there's nothing I can do about it."

"Would you actually?"

"Break his arm?" Daria asked. "No. Not without much greater provocation. He doesn't seem like the type who's ever crossed over from words to deeds. Am I wrong?"

Reaching for her own second piece, Jane said, "Does 'deeds' count staring at girls through binoculars? Because he's never gotten physical, but he's creeped out almost every woman close to his age in Lawndale."

Daria had just opened her mouth to respond when the front door slammed open and three men in black robes whose eyes were gone, replaced by some sort of freaky symbols, walked in. They had knives in their hands. Despite their lack of eyes, they seemed to be looking around the room for something or someone. Odds were it wasn't pizza. Her luck wasn't that good.

People started screaming and running. Upchuck picked up a chair and threw it through the front window, then jumped out of it. People followed him – everyone who could. That left her, Jane, and three guys, who backed into the wall and picked up a chair, each.

Then all three focused on her.

Of course.

"Jane," Daria said. "Get up and get behind me, now. When you get the chance, run. They seem to be here for me."

Jane nodded. "You don't need to tell me twice," she said.

The men with knives got closer, and charged as one. 


	3. Three J's

Tommy Sherman watched the people fleeing the pizza place. Didn't see the chick Ms. Li wanted dead, so that was good. Meant she was inside.

Li'd told him that he had a few dozen Bringers, but only a few right now. That was cool. First he'd see how this chick handled these guys with knives. Way, way creepy. Tommy Sherman didn't mind saying that. But they could handle themselves in a fight.

So first he'd see how the girl fought, and hey, if the Bringers managed to take her out, great, but he wasn't expecting it, not with only a couple of them and the girl being nearly as strong and tough as he was.

Looked like she was trying to protect that other chick, too. Yeah, could have been because she was one of the "good guys," but there were three dudes in there and she wasn't paying nearly as much attention to them.

Tommy Sherman wondered if they were getting it on.

X X X X X

Dudes had some kind of magic - they knew where Daria was at all times; it was kind of like Daredevil, without the red costume - but they didn't seem any stronger or faster than a well-trained human.

Would have made things better if she had a weapon besides her stake, 'cause maybe they were human, maybe not, but she wasn't going to kill them unless she had no other choice, or proof that they weren't.

Did leave her a bit light in the weapons department. Of all the days to leave her AK-47 at home. And the booths they were sitting at didn't have any convenient chairs, and all a pizza to the face of a bad guy's going to do is piss them off.

Jane moved behind her, but her avenues of escape were blocked, unless she could crawl out through a bathroom window. That only made Daria twice as determined, and twice as fucking pissed.

The first one to get to her slashed at her with the knife held in his right hand. She ducked and kicked it in the chest, knocking it into one of her other attackers. The third one threw its knife and leapt on Daria as she dodged. She couldn't completely avoid the charge and was knocked back into the booth.

Grabbing the napkin dispenser, she clocked her attacker in the head, twice, and shoved him off before he could do any real damage. And that's when she got help from a place she hadn't been expecting.

The three young men who'd been trapped in there with her and Jane were beating one of the attackers with their chairs, and doing a damn good job of making sure he stayed down.

"You don't hit a hot girl," one of them said. Daria didn't roll her eyes, 'cause they were doing her a solid, but still.

"You don't hit _any _girl," a second one said, slightly more enlightened.

"Yeah!" The third one said. They dropped their chairs and started kicking the guy they had on the floor.

That left two for her. She kicked one of them in the knee as hard as she could, and heard a bone crunch. He went down.

The third one looked around and started to throw his knife towards Jane. Daria struck his wrist and the knife clattered off the wall, well away from Jane.

Sirens in the background. The third one turned and ran out the front door. One the dudes were kicking wasn't moving.

The one with the broken knee grabbed his own knife and slashed his throat. Blood spurted out, narrowly missing Daria's pants.

"Whoa," one of the three said. "You see that?"

"Yeah!"

"Freaky," the third said.

Meantime, almost every instinct Daria had gotten from Faith told her to run – criminal history and Slayer. But Daria Faith Morgendorffer was not a person of instinct. Her brains told her if she ran, now, with witnesses, she'd be in more trouble than if she stuck it out.

"You okay?" she mouthed to Jane. Jane nodded. She turned to the three guys who'd gone after the one attacker and said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," one said. "I'm Joey."

"Anytime," the second said. "I'm Jeffy."

"Happy to help," the third said. "I'm Jamie."

"Well, Joey, Jeffy, Jamie, thanks," Daria said. "A lot of guys would have run away when they got a chance."

"It was three on one," Joey said.

"We couldn't let them attack you," Jeffy said.

"Yeah!" Jamie said. "Or the girl over there either." He looked up and saw the police pull up. "Oh, man! We'd better call our parents and let them know what's going on!" They stepped back and pulled out cell phones.

"I see you've met Triplicate Boy," Jane said.

"Yes. But where's the rest of the Legion?" Then, quietly, "Seriously, Jane. You okay?"

"I'm good," Jane said. "But being around you is never dull, is it?"

"It is frequently dull. Sometimes for minutes or even hours at a time." The police came in. "We'll finish this later, okay?"

X X X X X

Joey, Jeffy, and Jamie made good witnesses. Who knew? Still, it was largely due to their testimony that she and Daria got done explaining what was going on sometime before midnight.

Which was a good thing, because Daria looked to be about a half second away from snapping when the detective questioning her stood up and said, "Thank you, Ms. Morgendorffer. We're sorry; it's just –"

"I know," Daria said irritably. "I have a reputation. But this time ain't my fault. They attacked me. I was just defending myself. As I've told you people two or three dozen times already."

"We know," the detective said, "And we're sorry. We just don't get a lot of freaky occurrences like this in Lawndale."

"I understand," Daria said tightly. "Can I go now?" It was interesting to see her angry. She didn't show a lot of emotion, most of the time.

A uniformed cop ran up right then, saying, "The one we caught alive just killed himself in the hospital."

The detective quickly stood up. "I have to go. Miss Lane, Miss Morgendorffer, sorry for keeping you. We'll call you if we have any further questions."

Jane waited before they were out the front door of the station before asking, "Okay, spill, Morgendorffer. Who were those freaks?"

"No clue. Wish I knew. Gonna have to call Giles or Wes on this one." She looked back towards where Pizza King was. "I do wish they'd let us finish the pizza."

"It's probably still there."

"Cold pizza that's been sitting in the middle of a crime scene for six hours? No thank you. Even my iron stomach has its limits."

"Then it's back to my place for gummy bears and ginger ale!" Jane said. She always had some gummy bears lying around. They were useful to her art, and when she felt like painting or sculpting in another medium, she could just eat them.

Something like gingerbread used to be. She'd never done a gingerbread construct of any sort. Maybe after the road trip.

"Jane?" Daria asked tentatively. "Are you okay with this?"

"With what?" she asked innocently, then relented in the face of Daria's death-stare. "I told you before, Daria. I'm not going to let a little thing like this put me off." Odd that repeated near-death experiences didn't bother her, but the possibility that Daria Faith Morgendorffer might not quite be the person she'd, yes, bonded with on the plane ride did, but there you had it.

"They ain't little things, Jane. They're things that could get you killed. And," she took a deep breath, "I don't want that to happen."

"It's not something I'm looking forward to either, believe you me," Jane said. "But to hang out with you, I'm willing to take the risk." When Daria said nothing, Jane continued, "Look. Life carries a risk of death anyway."

"Close to a hundred percent," Daria said. "Eventually, for some people. But still."

"Still nothing, Morgendorffer. You're a damn sight more interesting than 99.9% of the people I've ever met on this planet, and that was before I knew that you hunted vampires for a living. It's a risk I'm willing to take, okay?"

"Okay. Sheesh. Anyone ever tell you you can be pushy?"

"Only once. Before I subjected them to a fate worse than death."

"And that would be?"

Jane quirked a smile. "What, and ruin the surprise?"

X X X X X

Daria kept an eye out for vampires on the way, but Lawndale didn't strike her as much of an undead haven. Most places medium-sized or bigger had some supernatural critters or other wandering around, but this wasn't Sunnydale, and she didn't see anything that met the "kill now!" criterion.

As soon as they got back to Jane's place, she locked the doors and placed a phone call. Wes wasn't in.

Giles was. "Hello?"

"Hello. It's Daria. I have a question for you."

"Business, I assume?"

"Unless you want to hear my review of the pizza I had for dinner."

Giles said, "No, thank you."

"Anyway," Daria said, "I ain't sure if they're demonic or not. That's why I'm asking." She went on to describe what had happened.

"Symbols in place of their eyes?" Giles asked. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. Why?"

"Do you remember the freak snowstorm that fell on Sunnydale two and a half years ago?"

"Yeah. B said it was about a bizarre bad guy who was trying to get Angel to kill himself and could take the form of the dead. I thought she took care of him, though."

"Unfortunately not. It's called the First Evil, and I'm not even sure it can be destroyed, simply defeated. These robed men are known as Bringers. They're no stronger or more durable than a normal human, but their lack of eyes makes them no less deadly with their weapons."

"Are they?" Daria asked. "Normal human?"

"Not really. The First has mystically altered them."

"Enough so that killing them isn't murder?" Daria asked. S

"Ah. I see where you're going. And I would say yes," Giles said. "Their alterations are irreversible. They are dedicated and unsalvageable and the alterations are irreversible. You need feel no guilt about killing them. Particularly if they are trying to kill you."

"Um. Thanks. I appreciate it."

"I do wonder why the First would be targeting you, though."

"You and me both," Daria said evenly. "I realize that it's Evil with a capital E and I'm one of the Good Guys with two capital G's, but I'm also guessing that he hasn't been trying to murder Buffy or Angel nonstop, or one of you would have told me about it by now."

"It, and his followers, have been laying low since its failed attempt to get Angel to commit suicide, so I would tend to agree with you," Giles said. "It does not appear to act without a plan of some kind. Unfortunately, it also tends not to work with allies that would be corruptible or susceptible to bribery or brute force. I shall endeavor to find out what I can. In the meantime, try to stay safe."

"Harder to hit a moving target," Daria said. "I was planning on this road trip anyway and this just gives me added incentive. Thanks, Giles. I'll be in touch." She hung up and turned to Jane. "Change of plans."

"I'm not going on the road?"

Daria thought. Would Jane be safer with her, or away from her?

Not a decision she needed to make right now. "Yes, but not far. We're not going to have time to put on the sidecar yet. Damn your garden gnomes for not getting back until Tuesday."

"How not far?"

"Far enough to get us out of immediate harm's way," Daria said. "Close enough that you can make it back here if they're only after me, which I hope. Pack your bags, Jane; we're going to Washington." 


	4. Stomp the Yard

To note and log: The flail and Daria's code come from _The Sum of Their Parts_, and Tommy Sherman didn't get nearly the influx of power that Caleb did. He's better, stronger, faster, but still within Slayer range in a fight.

X X X X X

Jane said, "So it's going to be you and me, two small bags, on a motorcycle at night, and me without a helmet? Hell, what's life without a little risk? Should I go knock back a few cold ones first to really heighten the experience?"

"I know it ain't the brightest thing in the world, but right now we don't have a choice."

Jane smiled. "Sure we do."

"Yes. I suppose we could stay here and wait for the inevitable siege. Do you have a dedicated water supply and a moat?"

"We have a bottle of spring water and a gazebo," Jane said.

"Good. So we have supplies for ten minutes and a nice place to take a picture. Useful under some circumstances, but kinda not helpful now."

"True, true," Jane said, "But not what I meant. I meant, why bundle us both onto a motorcycle when I have a perfectly serviceable deathtrap of my own sitting right outside?"

Daria had seen a car on her way in, but it hadn't particularly registered. "I thought you usually used your brother's band's van."

"Yes, but they're going to be gone most of the summer," Jane said. "And while I'm perfectly capable of walking or running a lot of places in this fair burg, a lot of interesting or necessary places are beyond my capability. So I took some of the money I have stored up and got myself a junker. Not suitable for cross-country trips, but enough to get us to DC."

"You, maybe. I ain't givin' up on the bike." Daria stopped. "Still, you're right. We don't need to be as light. We can add the sidecar once we get away from the Bringers long enough. Still, speed is essential. Can you be back down here in five minutes?"

Jane nodded. "That, I can do."

Tommy Sherman watched from his hiding place down the street as the two chicks ran around the house.

Too bad about those two Bringers, but he had more. Now that he had the power they were coming in from all over. Okay, not exactly all over, Ms. Li had some other dude doing work for her in the deep South where they had all the good football teams, but Tommy Sherman was gonna be in charge of these dudes long as it took.

Still didn't know why Ms. Li wanted them dead, and he still didn't care. As long as he kept the power, he'd make it back to the NFL. Any time but the Eagles. Screw the Eagles for not giving him a fair shake. Didn't they know he was _Tommy Sherman_?

Anyway - whoa. What the hell was this? They were leaving?

Uh-uh. That wasn't gonna happen. Not on Tommy Sherman's watch.

He walked across the street.

X X X X X

Pack in a hurry? Casa Lane wasn't built for "packing in a hurry." Lanes never did anything in a hurry, except possibly skipping out of a country ahead of a revolution.

Still, considering she and Daria were now being chased by cultists, on this occasion she was willing to make an exception. As long as it didn't set a precedent.

She was back downstairs in five minutes with a couple of bags; then she headed to the refrigerator and picked up the container of spring water, a bottle of ginger ale, and the pack of gummy bears; what passed in the Lane household for a well-stocked larder. She hadn't been kidding when she'd invited Daria back for ginger ale and gummy bears, considering they were more or less the only edible things in the house.

She had her sketch pad and her camera. Photography wasn't usually her medium of choice, but a camera was a lot easier to cart around than an easel and dozens of paint tubes.

"Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Jane said. "Onward, amiga."

Daria gave her a mildly sour look. "You know, you're way too enthusiastic about this."

"Oh. Sorry." Jane changed her voice, doing her best imitation of Brittany Taylor, and said, "Oh, Daria! Help save me from the big bad monsters! I'm going to go crawl into a deep dark hole and hope they never find me!" A second, then: "Better?"

"No."

"I live to disappoint," Jane said, quirking a smile.

"Then your life has been a success." After a second, "Everything set?"

"Yup. All power tools have been turned off, the mortgage is prepaid for three months, and the monster in the basement has three fresh bodies to feed off of."

"Gotta take care of the monsters," Daria said. "Let's go."

Jane flipped off the lights and followed Daria outside.

"Okay," Daria said. "I have a place we can go – the address, anyway. I'll call them when we get closer. Try not to lose me, okay?"

"Okay," Jane said.

'You two chicks aren't going anywhere," a sneering, arrogant, vaguely familiar voice said. Where had she heard it before?

Like that was the important thing when someone was threatening you. The man moved to where Jane could kind of make him out – a tall, muscular man with light hair.

"You're staying right here," the man went on, "So I know where you are when I kill you."

Daria, who'd just finished stuffing her bag back into her motorcycle's trunk, backed up and whispered to Jane, "A two-day pass to a whorehouse."

"Huh?" Jane asked. "Oh. Right."

"Get out when you can and I'll meet you there." The man, despite not wanting them to leave, hadn't thought of doing any damage to their vehicles. It was good when your enemies were stupid.

The man ripped the Lane mailbox out of the ground and started swinging it at them.

Of course, Jane thought, sometimes stupidity was made up for by brute strength . . .

X X X X X

Daria looked up at their attacker, saw him swinging the Lane mailbox with one hand, and shoved Jane out of the way, towards the car. Dude seemed human, not like what Giles had told her about the Bringers. They had to be connected, though; it would've been asking too much to hope for coincidence.

This time, though, she wasn't weaponless. She quickly dug through the motorcycle's trunk and yanked out her flail, jumping back just in time to avoid a wild swing by their attacker. While he was off-balance, Daria kicked him.

Shit! It felt like kicking a full-grown cow! Whatever this was, it was no ordinary human, 'cause even a professional wrestler should have felt that more than this guy had.

The man said, "Ow! You know, I almost felt that!" as he spun back around.

Terrific. Not only was he stronger than he had any right to be, he got his dialogue straight out of bad comic books. At least he hadn't called anyone "old friend" yet.

"Then I didn't do it right," Daria said evenly, and swung the flail at his face, jerking it back before he could grab it – which he almost did.

"Ow!" he said. "I'm gonna get you for that, bitch! No one messes up Tommy Sherman's face!"

Okay. Time to think. The man – Tommy Sherman - was strong, at least as strong as she was. He was tough – tougher than she was. And fast, but not faster than she was.

Slayer instinct would only go so far here. She had to out-think him.

First, she needed to get him away from the driveway. He swung the mailbox back towards her head. She stepped back and quick-kicked the box at it passed, throwing him off balance, and then shoved him with all of her strength in the direction he was heading.

He stumbled and fell to the ground; Daria quickly turned and hissed, "Jane! Go!"

Jane had anticipated Daria's order, though, and was already opening her car's door.

In the meantime, Sherman had reacted faster than Daria had hoped. He rolled over, took the mailbox, and flung it at her head. Daria didn't have time enough to dodge completely, though it clipped her in the temple instead of bouncing off her forehead, the way he'd probably hoped.

Still, that meant it only hurt like a son of a bitch, instead of a motherfucker. It also knocked her backwards, though she managed to keep her feet.

She heard the squeal of tires from behind her. Good. Jane hadn't had any stupid ideas about trying to help her. Jane was fast and in decent shape, if that run meant anything, but she wasn't up for playing tag with this guy.

Sherman tried to bull rush her while she was still recovering from the blow to the temple. Okay. Strong, tough, fast, but no fighting skills. He was relying primarily on his superhuman abilities, trying to overwhelm her rather than fight her. Daria could work with that.

What did one do with a charging bull? ("Take away its credit card" didn't seem to be an option here.)

One led it to charge into things. Those years of Warner Brothers cartoons hadn't been a complete waste after all. (Also one of the few things Daria Lynn and Faith had in common, though this sure as shit wasn't the time to hash out her ongoing identity crisis.)

Unfortunately, the closest tree was in the backyard, and the sculpture, while metal, looked like it wouldn't do more than piss him off. Or, worst, give Sherman an extra weapon to use.

That left the house and the vehicles in the street. She didn't want to leave Jane's house damaged while she and Jane were traveling the country. So, the road it was.

She dodged Sherman's bull rush and clipped him in the back of the leg with the flail. Weak points. Even stronger than she was, he had to have weak points, even if they were stronger than everyone else's weak points.

Not the time to be creative. Balls, instep, Adam's apple, kneecap. The nose hurt, but wouldn't cripple, and she'd already hit him in the face.

He growled, turned, and ran at her again. He'd probably be thinking she'd try the same thing again, so instead she backpedaled, kicked him sharply in the kneecap, and fell backwards, allowing his momentum to flip him over her.

Didn't completely get away with it, though. Sherman grabbed her wrist as he flipped, holding on as he hit the ground. She tried to pull free, but couldn't. He squeezed it, hard, while he scrabbled around trying to stand up.

Obviously dude wasn't going to let her go. Daria couldn't have that; it would leave her at a severe disadvantage. And while she couldn't get up while Sherman had her wrist, she did have her other arm free.

The one that held the flail.

Aiming towards Sherman's head, she swung the flail backwards as hard as she could. Metal met skull, and he let go of her wrist.

Quickly, Daria rolled and pushed herself to her feet. Her left wrist was sore, but not broken. Sherman was staggering backwards but not down or even seriously injured. Well, shit. Not like she wanted to kill him, but it'd be nice if her blows had some effect other than pissing the man off.

He _was_, however, closer to the road. Daria didn't hesitate to turn Sherman's tactics on himself, and before he could fully recover, she charged at him, shoving him towards the street as hard as she could. Off-balance as he was, he couldn't stop her, this time, and he tumbled backwards into the roadway, the back of his skull hitting the pavement.

Normally, Daria would have finished trying to pound the man to a pulp, but the current circumstances weren't much on normal.

Faith would have stayed, no questions asked, until she or the bad guy were done. But she wasn't, exactly, Faith, and she had other things to worry about.

Before Sherman was completely down, she'd spun around and was running towards her motorcycle. She hated to cold-start it like this, but she didn't really have a choice.

As she got on, she could hear Tommy Sherman yell, "You running away from a fight?"

"No," Daria yelled over the noise of her starting engine. "I'm _riding_ away."

And she did.


	5. Nothing Like the Mighty

I go by the following theory: That not only was the First anticipating the second death and resurrection of Buffy because that gave it its opening, but because that gave it more power as well. Its manipulation of Angel was psychologically devastating but not nearly on the level of what it was able to accomplish in season 7, in terms of sheer power. I assume that it is substantially more limited in this story.

It is unable to appear in more than one location at this point, though it still choose who is able to see it, and who not. It is also unable to grant Tommy Sherman the level of abilities that it was able to grant to Caleb.

Does this make sense? I want to have the First be a powerful enemy, but not quite as cosmic-level as it was in season 7.

Also: Once again, Soldier's Delight is a real park near Reisterstown, Maryland. "Lawndale Pike" replaces Westminster Pike. And the chapter title is actually five words long.

X X X X X

Tommy Sherman stood up and watched the chick drive away. Never figured the bitch would be a coward -

Wait a minute. She wasn't being a coward. She had nothing to fight for. The other chick was gone and Ms. Li'd told him that Slayers didn't kill people.

Okay. He could work with that.

Now he knew better how she fought, too. Chick had no instincts. Had a couple of moves, and almost his kind of muscle, but she clearly didn't really know how to fight. Not like Tommy Sherman!

Still, he needed to track her down, quick. What'd she say to that other chick? Something about a whorehouse?

Naaah. The whorehouses in Lawndale had no talent. Even the friend was too good-looking for a place like that, and she wasn't hot, not like the Slayer was.

"And what do you think you're doing, Mr. Sherman?" came Ms. Li's voice. The Principal was standing right next to him.

"Saw 'em leaving," he said. "Be a lot harder to find them if they're running away, and Tommy Sherman promised he wouldn't let them go! So -"

"So, instead of attacking their vehicles, you decided to attack them."

Shit. He hadn't even thought about that. "That would have been smarter, I guess. But now I've seen the chick fight twice. I know what I'll be doing when I see her again."

"You'd better, Mr. Sherman. I gave you that power, and I can take it away. And if you ever want to make Laaawndale High proud of its future NFL star, you won't make the same mistake again."

"Won't happen, Ms. Li. I got her number now." After a second he added, "But I don't know where she is."

"Concentrate, Mr. Sherman. Concentrate . . ." and Tommy Sherman sort of felt a trail in his head. "And there you go, Mr. Sherman. That is all the help I'll be able to give you, though. Just remember. Kill her. Under no circumstances is Daria Morgendorffer to return to Sunnydale, California. Understood?"

"Loud and clear," she said.

X X X X X

Daria pulled into the parking lot of the Pizza King's shopping center for about twenty seconds so she could stow the flail and get her helmet on; Maryland was one of those mandatory-helmet places, and she wasn't much in the mood for massive head trauma, anyway.

She knew there were stats that said that head injuries went up in places where there were helmet laws. 'course there were. A lot of the people who now ended up with head injuries, used to end up dead. And, of course, some of the people could have only been improved by massive head trauma. Spike, for instance.

The Pizza King itself was cordoned off with crime scene tape; there was plywood in the windows where that guy Upchuck had broken through and escaped. The pizza was probably still inside.

Fuck the Bringers. It was one thing to kill her, and another entirely to make her waste good pizza.

Just in case Sherman had some way of tracking her, she wasn't planning to stick around for too long. She had to go find Jane.

There was no way Tommy Sherman would have been able to figure out the clue Daria had given Jane; the man seemed to be an imbecile, and in any event this was something that only she, Jane, and Trent had been involved in. Mindreading clearly hadn't been one of his skills or he would have beaten her fairly easily, so she wasn't concerned about him or the Bringers beating her there.

Still. "There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Jane." True, the Baltimore region wasn't known as a hotbed of supernatural activity, but there were dangers in the night everywhere, and not all of them were nonhuman. Better to find her as soon as possible.

She got back on the bike and took off. She thought she heard someone calling after her, but that couldn't have been right; the only other person currently in Lawndale who knew her by name was Anthony DeMartino, and the voice hadn't sounded anything like his.

Straight down Lawndale Pike, then. Second road to the right, and straight on until morning.

Or something like that.

X X X X X

The First retreated to the In-Dark, after looking in on Caleb. It would have cursed its current circumstances had there been anything it felt worth cursing them to.

It was still bound. It was still bound and limited, and its plans were not what they should have been.

Buffy Summers was supposed to be dead right now, with her grieving friends willing to do anything to get her back. It had been mapped out so well that the First hadn't needed to use any of its own influence.

Glorificus was to have killed her.

But even the First was not the master of chance. It was neither omniscient nor omnipotent. It could know whatever the forms it took knew, but it had never taken the form of Buffy Summers until after she had been supposed to die, but its reasoning. Only then had it become aware of who Daria Morgendorffer was, and the role she had played.

It had not known that the other Slayer was someone else; that had introduced several random factors into the equation, although Cameron Kim and Lynette Vaughn were currently being occupied by the machinations of Wolfram & Hart.

It had an out, though. Things were moving in such a manner that Buffy Summers would die again, in about eleven months.

But if Daria Morgendorffer made it back, she wouldn't. Something about her presence would change things.

This could not be.

It had remained without form, and void, for far too long.

Tommy Sherman was not the servant Caleb was, and never would be. He was not a follower, simply a mercenary. But one who would stay bought and would not betray him. The First did not choose its agents lightly.

It would have preferred one who had a higher level of intelligence. But Tommy Sherman was, at least, determined.

Determination would have to do.

In the meantime, it was time to put some more pressure on Daria Morgendorffer.

X X X X X

"A two-day pass to a whorehouse." There weren't three people in the world who would have gotten that. Yes, Trent had been standing there when Jane had made the joke, but he hadn't quite fully figured out what was going on at that point and was still in his usual state of half-narcolepsy.

And so, here Jane was, back at Soldier's Delight, parked just inside the entryway by the closed gate. Of course, it being sometime past midnight, everything was closed; there was a place where she could have gone for a walk in the woods without breaking through a security gate, but she thought that might be a bad idea, considering what could be out there. Werewolves. Vampires.

Upchuck.

Besides, Daria probably wouldn't be in the mood for a walk in the woods after fighting that bastard.

She'd hated to run, especially from a jerk like Tommy Sherman. As soon as Jane had heard the name, she'd remembered the man. Trent had some classes with him, and he'd been as big an ass then as when he'd come back to have a goalpost named for him and hit on every female he'd run across except for Ms. Li, who probably wouldn't have minded, blinded as she'd been by the glory Sherman had brought to Laaawndale High. It was proof that there was, occasionally, justice in the world that the man had been denied the NFL career he'd so obviously thought he deserved, though clearly not enough justice, or the man would have by now undergone several reconstructive groin surgeries.

Ah well. Hope for tomorrow.

Anyway, Jane had hated to run. And yes, she was aware of the irony. But if Tommy Sherman was capable of ripping a mailbox from the ground with one hand and waving it around like it was a magic wand, there was nothing she could have done - and Sherman was perfectly capable of using her to get to Daria.

And so she'd left, reluctantly, but she'd left. For all that she wasn't entirely sure who Daria Faith Morgendorffer was, she'd still reached an exclusive club: People about whom Jane Lane officially gave a damn. How exclusive was it? The membership was three: Herself, Trent, and now Daria. Oh, sure, she didn't really wish anyone dead, and there were people she didn't want to see hurt and even sort of liked, but that wasn't the same thing.

Ah, hell. If she'd let Daria onto the list, then it was too late to decide whether she wanted to have the woman in her life. Of course she did, whether she was Daria or Daria Faith.

_Lane_, she thought, _you're getting entirely too sentimental._

Well, she'd have plenty of time to prove otherwise later.

Was that a motorcycle in the distance?

X X X X X

There was the entrance to Soldier's Delight, not far ahead. And a car that looked like - no, _was_ - Jane's parked by it.

Good.

Daria pulled off the side of the road and ended up a few feet away from the car. Jane was in the front seat, and smiled slightly when she saw Daria.

Taking off her helmet, she was startled to hear a familiar voice. "God, Daria! Do you know what wearing a helmet does to your hair?"

It couldn't be . . .

She turned around.

It was.

Standing there, in a pink baby t with a smiley face and blue jeans, was Quinn.

Quinn, her sister.

Quinn was dead.

Willard Jay Harbaugh had killed her. Murdered her, brutally.

So this wasn't Quinn.

"And you care why?" Daria said, trying not to let her emotions show on her face. Quinn or not, this hurt.

"Well, you're my sister, silly!" she said. "And you reflect on me." A pause, then, with a slight steel to the tone, "Badly. Just like you always did. God! Do you know how hard it was, putting up with you as a sister, sometimes? I wanted to pretend you were my cousin or something. I was going to do that when we moved to Lawndale." Another pause. "Until you got me killed."

"I didn't get Quinn killed," Daria said. "Knock it off."

"Or what?" she said, flipping her hair. "You'll tell Mom? Well, newsflash, Daria: You got her killed too."

"No," Daria said tightly. "I didn't. And you're not Quinn. You're the First Evil, posing as Quinn. But you're nothing like her."

"I'm everything like her. I know everything she knew. And what I really know is, deep down, she hated you."

Had Quinn hated her? Sure. And she'd hated her back. They were sisters, after all, and damn-near polar opposites.

But they hadn't hated each other deep down. They'd loved each other, there.

"No, she didn't."

She smiled, just as Quinn would have. "Go on telling yourself that if it makes you feel better. Deep down, we know the truth."

"Why do you want me dead?"

She shrugged. "Why not?"

And then she vanished.

Jane, by this point, had gotten out of the car and was standing about three feet away. "You okay, amiga?" she murmured. "Who were you talking to there?"

"You couldn't see anyone?" Daria asked.

"No, you should have been able to see it. And hear it. It's something called the First Evil. It's also the one who sent Tommy Sherman and the Bringers after me."

"I knew you were special, Morgendorffer," Jane said. "No crummy Second or Third Evils for you. No, you get the First Evil."

"It's an honor I could do without," Daria said tightly. "Please take this seriously."

"Hey, this is me being serious. I actually believe you. I'm not looking for a phone to have you taken to Sheppard Pratt where you can listen to nice men with soothing voices." After a second, she added, "So why is it tormenting you?"

"I don't know, other than 'it's evil.' Which seems to be necessary, but not sufficient. Last time it tried to get this dude I know - one of the few people who ever actually gave a shit about me as Faith - and get him to either kill B - Buffy - or commit suicide. B managed to talk him out of the latter, but not by much. Now, for some reason, it's after me. And it seems to just want me dead."

"So why bother torturing you, then? Why not just send those freaky cultists after you until your drop?"

"Don't give it any ideas," Daria said. "Anyway, I don't know. Psychological war games are its stock in trade. But whatever it wanted to do - make me feel guilty, I assume - backfired. It made me angry instead."

There seemed to be nothing to say to that, so after a second Jane said, "So, off to DC?"

"Off to DC."

"Got a hankering for the Smithsonian?"

"No. I know someone who lives in Alexandria. Hold on a second. I need to make a phone call." She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. The person at the other end picked up on the third ring. "Hello? Aunt Amy?"


	6. Night in Alexandria

If intent was any indication, Daria's conversation with her aunt, Amy Barksdale, was cordial and pleasant.

From Daria's point of view, it was just short of torture. Not because she hated her aunt; her feelings were still distinctly mixed towards the woman who had moved heaven and earth to get her out of jail while doing her best to erase Faith Lehane from existence in the process. It was because she'd had to purge every damn trace of Faith from her words and accent. Hard, not impossible, but still.

Aunt Amy thought Faith wasn't around any longer, so Daria had to pretend that that was the case.

To make herself feel better, she cussed for ten seconds straight when she was done. Jane said, "So, Morgendorffer, do you kiss - anyone with that mouth?"

Daria chose not to take it personally; it was an obvious joke, and Jane had stopped herself from completing the phrase. "Haven't in quite a while now," she said. "I'm not, as currently constructed, a particularly physical person."

"So you what? Kill the vampires with your razor sharp wit?" Jane said.

"Come closer. You'll see how razor sharp it can be."

"No thanks. I prefer my internal organs to remain that way."

"Wuss."

"So, we going to get going?" Jane asked, looking around. "Some of those cultists might be around and I wasn't really kidding about my internal organs."

"In a second," Daria said. "I need to make another phone call."

"Dial-a-Prayer?" Jane asked hopefully.

"Naah. This gal's an atheist. But I do plan on talking to an Angel."

"Now you've lost me."

"That's his name."

"His?" Jane said melodramatically. "And I thought my brother was to be the one true love of your life."

Trent Lane was a good-looking man, no question about it. But, her initial hormonal reaction aside, the two of them weren't particularly compatible. Faith would have jumped him; Daria Lynn would have probably had a lingering crush.

Daria Faith had forced herself to move past it. There were more important things in her life.

To Jane she said, "Knock it off. And while you're knocking, get back in your car. Just in case those cultists do show up it might be a good idea if we're not scrambling for our keys like some B-grade horror movie."

"I'll have you know that everything I learned from life, I learned from B-grade horror movies," Jane said as she moved to open her car door.

"Terrific. That means you're probably the killer."

"Naah," she said as she got in. "Grade B ones aren't that twisty. I'd only be the killer in a grade A horror movie."

"That's some comfort, yo," Daria said.

After five rings, the machine picked up. Cordy's voice. "Angel Investigations. We help the helpless. Please leave your name, business, and contact information after the beep, and if you're a hot rich guy, there's a picture of me on our website."

"Angel," Daria said. "It's Daria. Look. I'm having some problems with an old enemy of yours - the First. Giles is handling the research end of things but I was hoping for something of the personal touch. Give me a call."

She hung up her phone and put it away and nodded towards Jane, then started up her bike and maneuvered back out onto the roadway.

It was 1 AM, or thereabouts. With any luck, they should be at Aunt Amy's by 2:30.

X X X X X

Amy Barksdale hung up her phone. Fortunately, she hadn't been asleep when her niece called; the life of a freelance writer led to some distinctly offbeat hours.

It had been a strained conversation, for all that Daria had been audibly trying her best to come across as civil and pleasant, but the effort had been obvious in every word she'd said. Amy only hoped the same hadn't been true, in reverse.

Still, she thought, it was good that Daria was finally willing to talk to her. She'd gotten a curt thank-you call when she'd sent her niece a copy of _Dhalgren_, but that had been about it. Rita hadn't even gotten that much, although Daria had seemed to blame Amy more for what had happened.

Of course, she might have asked for better circumstances, but at this point she was willing to take whatever contact she could get.

Apparently, Daria was having some kind of trouble right now, although what that was, her niece hadn't been particularly clear on. It had involved a fight of some kind in Lawndale earlier this evening, and a friend Daria had made since her release from prison a couple of months back. Daria had promised more details when she arrived, and Amy was going to hold her to it, but not pressure her. Their relationship, at this point, was the dictionary definition of "precarious and she was going to do her damnedest to avoid making it topple.

Whether she thought Daria should be angry at her and Rita wasn't particularly relevant. Amy knew that the world was a better place with her niece out of Jail and the Faith personality erased from existence. It had been for Daria's own good. But Daria had made it as clear as cellophane what she thought about people who did hurtful things to others 'for their own good,' and that erasing Faith counted as hurtful.

Maybe this was a chance to get past that. Forgive, if not forget.

Amy hoped so.

X X X X X

The First Evil headed back to the In-Dark to rejuvenate. It could never run out of energy - it was eternal - but the entryway to the world of the corporeal was limited, and required much effort to broach. Having given certain abilities to Tommy Sherman, it would be limited until the time came to charge its true servant, Caleb.

It was eternal, but had never truly learned patience. It did not have thousand-year plans. The years wore on. Every millennium, every hour, every second was one more moment it was not in the world. Had it been a lesser being, it surely would have gone mad by now.

Its manipulation of others' minds had served it well throughout the ages. It had confidence in what had, for most of its existence, been its primary weapon.

Daria Morgendorffer was far more intelligent than the vampire, Angel, had been. A difficulty in dealing with her was the near-impenetrability of her mind to reading. It could pick up surface thoughts, but that was all. It wasn't sure why.

Still, the First was certain it would succeed, in part because it wasn't trying, this time, to do anything nearly as complex as it had attempted with Angel. Angel, it had been trying to drive to suicide or murder.

Daria Morgendorffer, it was simply trying to make angry.

X X X X X

Tommy Sherman cussed. The Daria chick was getting further and further away. He had to get closer before he caught some shuteye, and these Bringers were awesome fighters but didn't know how to drive. He'd gotten them to kill a couple of guys with a van and had packed them into the back. Ms. Li had warned him that they had some kind of stench, only you couldn't smell it, that killed living things if they spent too much time around it. Couldn't hurt him, she'd said, but he wasn't taking any chances. There was gonna be a Tommy Sherman Jr. in the future.

He had only three of them with him at the moment, but Ms. Li had promised him more when he needed it. And he might, 'cause the chick had dealt with the first three like Ray Lewis tackling a middle school runningback.

Once he got to wherever the chick was going, he was just gonna keep an eye on her till more Bringers showed up - unless she and that friend of hers looked like they were getting on a plane, at least, one going anywhere near California. Otherwise, he was holding off till he was sure he had the men. But he'd be fighting the bitch again. _No one_ ran away from Tommy Sherman!

X X X X X

It was 2:30 AM more or less on the button when Jane Lane followed Daria Morgendorffer into a small parking lot in Alexandria, Virginia. She got her bags out of the back seat and said to a dismounting Daria, "Is that your aunt up there?"

Daria looked up and saw a woman giving a small wave from a third-floor balcony. "That's her," she said, giving a nearly-identical wave back. Amy moved inside.

"Good. Because it was either that, or the hookers around here are a lot more subtle than they are in Lawndale."

Reaching down to get one of Jane's bags, Daria said, quietly, "There's something I need to be clear on. Aunt Amy doesn't know Faith exists anymore. In any fashion. She also doesn't know about vampires or vampire Slayers. So -"

Interrupting, Jane said, "Relax. Tu secret es mi secret, amiga. Unless I can use it for some really good blackmail." She smiled slightly.

Daria said, "Good. Because this is going to be hard enough as it is."

"So, how much were you going to pay me, exactly . . .?" Jane asked. "No, seriously. If you knew it was going to be hard, why did we come?"

I was going to come here anyway," Daria said. "Not quite under these circumstances, admittedly."

"This is kind of the wrong time for a heart to heart."

"Yes. Damned evil beings with their evil schemes. They're always so inconsiderate."

"Hmmm," Jane said as they started up the stairs. "I smell an unexplored field for Miss Manners."

"Someone should drop her a note," Daria said. "A proper one, of course."

"Of course."

Amy Barksdale was waiting for them on the landing. She stepped back into her condominium as they approached, saying, "Enter freely and of your own will." Daria frowned, but couldn't off the top of her head think of a causal way to suggest that her aunt not invite people inside. As they walked in, she said, "What was that about Miss Manners?"

"We were wondering if she should release a niche etiquette book targeted at the bad guys," Jane said. "How to conduct a painfully correct mugging. Which knife to use when shivving someone in the prison yard. Stuff like that."

"I can just imagine how gauche a hit man would feel if he found out he'd killed someone using the wrong firearm," Amy said, extending a hand. "Amy Barksdale. Daria's aunt."

"Jane Lane. Artiste extraordinaire. Daria's friend."

"Good to meet you," Amy said. "Artiste?"

"Painting, drawing, sculpting, photography, bank robbery. Whatever I'm in the mood for."

"That's how we met, initially," Daria said. "She saw me sitting somewhere and asked if she could paint me."

"What color?" Amy asked.

Just what she asked," Jane said. "I suggested a nice mauve. Possibly with polka dots."

"Damn," Amy said. "I don't mind if my jokes fall flat but it bugs the hell out of me if they're unoriginal." She turned to Daria and said, seriously, "How are you doing?"

"Well enough," Daria said. "Still trying to figure out who I am."

"Has that pesky amnesia struck again?"

Apparently not in the mood, Daria said a bit testily, "You know what I mean, and why."

"I do. And I don't take that lightly. I never did."

The tension in the room had jumped considerably upwards. Jane figured she'd better try to do some quick defusing. Besides, it was the wrong time to settle anything except who got to sleep where.

The tension in the room had jumped considerably upwards. Jane figured she'd better try to do some quick defusing. Besides, it was the wrong time to settle anything except who got to sleep where. "Girls, girls!" she said with mock cheer. "That's what the morning is for. You bring the arguments, I'll bring the steel cage. Good? Good. Now let's go pick out somewhere to sleep!" She was met by brief, identical glares from Amy and Daria. "Me, I'll take the balcony."

Amy broke first and said, "Of course. I have a sofa and a bed." After a second, she added. "I would prefer neither be moved to the balcony."

"You take the bed," Daria said. "I'd rather be out here anyway. Just to be safe."

"Safe?" Amy asked.

"One of those things I'll explain tomorrow. I promise," Daria said. "But right now? Jane's right. It's time for bed."

Amy then led Jane to the bedroom. She was asleep within minutes.

X X X X X

Daria was awakened from bad dreams by a hand on her shoulder. She jerked awake to see Jane standing there. "Get up," she said urgently. The clock on the wall said 7:35 AM.

"What is it?" Daria asked.

"Tommy Sherman's back," Jane said. "With friends. C'mere."

They walked to the living room window overlooking the parking lot. Jane pointed down through the closed curtains. "See the van?"

Daria looked down and saw a light gray van in the parking lot. Sure enough, someone who very much resembled the bastard she'd fought last night was asleep in the driver's seat. Brief flashes of movement towards the back looked like the Bringers, too. Shit!

"I don't think they saw me," Jane said. "But they'll jump on you the second we walk out."

"Yeah," Daria said. "I know. This is really starting to piss me off."

"You and me both. I was looking forward to a road trip, not Mortal Kombat."

"Don't worry. This time I'm going to finish him." After a second, "Go wake up Aunt Amy. I need to ask her permission to do something."

"Why?"

Daria said, grimly, "Move some furniture."


	7. Headfirst

There is a missing scene in this part; you will see it next part.

X X X X X

"Um, what?" Jane asked.

"Move some furniture," Daria said.

"Why?"

"To block the door. We're on the third floor: at least 25 feet off of the ground. The Bringers can't fly, but they and their boss out there are perfectly capable of battering down a door. Yes, that would mean other people, my aunt's neighbors, would hear what was going on, but it's not going to do us any good if the police arrive five minutes after the Bringers and Tommy Sherman have slaughtered us and fled the area."

I suppose it wouldn't," Jane said.

"One thing this definitely means: Either Tommy Sherman or his friends have some way of following us. After a second, she said, "Shit! That means they know Aunt Amy's here." From here on out, Daria wasn't going to go anywhere anyone she gave a crap about might get in trouble.

"Not necessarily," Jane said. "Just make sure they can't see her. They have no idea who lives here. And when we leave? They'll follow us."

"Two things wrong with that. I wish there weren't. One is that the First Evil can be pretty much anywhere, at any time, so even if the genius out there doesn't know about Aunt Amy yet, it will. Second -"

"Well, gosh, I do now," came a voice from behind her. Daria turned and saw former (as in dead) Mayor of Sunnydale Richard Wilkins standing there.

"Your friend back?" Jane asked.

"My friend back," Daria confirmed. "Go get Aunt Amy. I'll deal with it."

Before she did so, Jane strode over next to Daria and, looking in the general direction of the First, said, in as cold a tone as Daria had ever heard from her, "I don't know what you're doing harassing my friend, but knock it off." Then she walked back towards Amy's bedroom.

"Mayor Wilkins" watched her leave. "I like her!" it said. "She's got spunk. Be a darn shame if anything happened to her."

"Gee," Daria said dryly. "That sounds like a threat."

It grinned. "Gosh, I'm sorry about that. I meant it to sound exactly like one. I'm sorry for the ambiguity."

"No problem," Daria said. "Most of the problems in the world today would be settled if people just spoke more clearly. And carried large automatic weapons."

"I'm glad we agree."

"Me too," Daria said. "And while we're on the topic, why exactly do you want to kill me? 'Why not' makes it sound like you're doing it on a whim, and forgive me for saying this, but you don't seem like the whimsical type."

It laughed. "Oh, you're absolutely right. If I went around getting every force of good I ran across killed willy-nilly, the streets would just be covered in blood. Do you know how hard that stuff is to get out? And the day the streets will be covered in the blood of heroes is somewhere off into the future."

"You didn't answer my question."

"No. No, I didn't."

I figured it wouldn't be that easy," Daria said. "I'll give you this one free of charge. In the hopes of encouraging two-way communication, of course."

"I'm all ears," it said amiably.

"Mayor Dick doesn't exactly do it for me anymore. I don't have particularly fond memories of the man who took my desire for a father figure and twisted it to his own ends, but he doesn't frighten me, either. So if you're planning to use my feelings for him to further your own ends, whatever those ends happen to be, think again."

"Thanks for the info, kiddo," it said, and Daria winced internally. "I'll remember that."

"Do."

"Daria?" Aunt Amy's voice said semi-sleepily from behind her. "What's going on?"

"That's your aunt, huh?" The First Evil said. "Fine figure of a woman. I can see where you got your brains and beauty from."

"Get out," Daria said tightly.

"Not you," Jane murmured.

"Sure thing. See you on the flip side!" The First Evil vanished.

"Who was it this time?" Jane asked.

"Mayor Richard Wilkins or an unreasonable facsimile thereof," Daria said. "Faith's perverted version of a father figure."

"What -?" Amy began. "Daria, who were you talking to?"

"What -?" Amy began. "Daria, who were you talking to?" She sounded concerned and puzzled, but not patronizing. Good. Daria didn't think she could handle patronizing right at the moment.

"It's a long story," Daria said.

"You're talking to someone who isn't there," Amy said. "I think I have the time."

"And I agree," Daria said. "But we'll need to move some of furniture over there so it blocks the door while we talk, okay?" It wasn't quite killing her to talk like Daria Lynn, but it was a bit of a strain.

"Why?" Amy asked.

Jane took Amy over to the front window. "You see those guys in the van out there?" Amy nodded. "Daria fought them yesterday. Twice. She won both fights - she's that good - but they're still after her. We're moving the furniture so they can't bash in the front door and murder us all. Personally, I like living more than dying, so this strikes me as a good idea."

In the meantime, Daria had already begun to size up the sofa. It was heavy, but she thought she could move it by herself if she picked it up at the center.

"Daria fought him. What does this have to do with - whoa." The whoa came, probably, because Daria had just picked up the sofa, and was walking it, cautiously, towards Amy's front door. When she put it down, Amy said, with a mildly shocked look on her face, "It took two men built like professional wrestlers to put that thing in place. How did you-?"

"Hey, don't ask me," Jane said. "I've seen it, I believe it, but I leave the explanations to the experts." She moved over to pick up a chair. "This isn't an antique, is it?"

"No," Amy said distractedly.

"Good." She went over and put it on top of the sofa. "I'd hate to ruin a real antique. Unless I could get a good sculpture out of it."

Daria was moving the coffee table. As she put it next to the chair, she said, "The problem with explaining it to you at any time, never mind in the middle of what may become another siege, is that you'll probably think that the explanation I make and know to be true is proof of my mental instability. It isn't, but the only evidence I can offer at the moment is my strength." She tried to avoid even thinking like Faith. Too easy to make a mistake. "I shouldn't have been able to move that soda, but I obviously just did." She put a small end table next to the chair. "You're a rational person, Aunt Amy. Think it through."

Amy Barksdale apparently wasn't ready to make "the leap" yet. "This has something to do with your stay in prison," she said. "I know a lot of the time you have nothing to do but work or work out. No, that sculpture's worth something."

"Really?" Jane said. "Okay, I'll move this lamp instead."

"Move the TV and you're a dead woman," Amy said.

"What do you think I am? A savage?"

"At this point, I'm not so sure," Amy said.

"Your conclusion is logical, but wrong," Daria said. "Yes, Faith worked out in prison, but I'd have to be built like the Hulk to handle that sofa. You'll notice I have some muscles, but I'm not, precisely, "ripped." There's another explanation. And it has something to do with the creatures in the back of that van."

"What point would that prove?" Amy asked. "So far, what I know is that you're stronger than you should be, that you've gotten in a lot of fights, and you're worried that I'm going to think you're insane if you tell me the whole story. I hate to have to tell you, dear niece, but that ship left the docks a long time ago."

"As long we don't hit an iceberg," Jane said.

"Or get torpedoed by the Germans," Daria added. "Listen. Aunt Amy. I'm trying to let you draw your own conclusions."

"I know. And I actually appreciate that. It's just that I don't think I have enough evidence to draw a conclusion other than, 'my niece, and her friend, are clinically insane.' You're arguing that you're not insane. But then, you would, if you were. Ockham's Razor. Entities ought not be multiplied unnecessarily."

"I'm familiar," Daria said.

"Show, not tell," Jane said.

"What?" Daria and Amy said, almost simultaneously.

"I'm an artist, so I tend to think visually. Paint her a picture."

"We have to get those creatures to come out of the van," Daria said. "Of course, we don't want them terrorizing the community in the process."

"Would they?" Jane asked. "They seemed awfully focused."

"Not a risk I'm willing to take. I want Aunt Amy to see them. I don't want her to see them on the six o'clock news because of the murder spree they went on in the parking lot. I can't control their actions. But I can do my damnedest to minimize the risk."

And those risks would be?" Jane asked.

"Make sure they're focused on me." She sighed. "Aunt Amy."

"Yes?"

"Find a rope or a ladder. And pack a bag."

"Why?"

"It's my fault," Daria said, "But they know where you are now. You're going to have to come with us."

"Well, buckaroos," Jane said. "Looks like we got ourselves a convoy."

X X X X X

Tommy Sherman was being jostled. Tommy Sherman didn't like being jostled. He jerked awake and said, "lay off."

The Bringer who'd woken him up pointed upwards, then returned to the back of the van. Good. He didn't like being near them, and not just because their damn aura of death. The First had made him immune, but he wasn't going to take any more chances than he had to. It was just that they were, well, creepy. He couldn't imagine wanting to give up your whole life for the first unless he was getting a whole shitload in return. Tommy Sherman, now, he'd held out for strength and speed. He knew the angles. Tommy Sherman was no one's fool.

The Bringer pointed again. Right, it'd woken him up to show him something. He looked where it was pointing and saw the Daria chick standing out on one of the balconies. Looking at him, she put a hand up to her neck.

What? Tommy Sherman wasn't a fucking choker. She'd run away like the little chickenshit bitch she was. Stupid of her, too, 'cause now he knew exactly where she was. He'd gained a couple of other Bringers during the night; apparently the First was gaining followers everywhere. He hated to let them in the van, but they sure as hell weren't going to stay outside where any moron looking into the parking lot could see them and scream for the cops.

A few people had passed by, going to work, probably, but the parking lot didn't have any people in it now.

Five Bringers. Was that enough to attack with? She'd stopped three and fought him to a tie, before she'd chickened out and run off. But now he had five, plus him, and the bitch was trapped in the apartment. No way out but jumping, and she'd probably make it, no one else in the apartment would.

Since the coast was clear, he told the Bringers to pile out of the back of the van, go inside, and run up the stairs. No one saw them. Good. Tommy Sherman wasn't a wimp, but he didn't want to leave a trail of bodies behind him, either. Even dumb cops would notice something like that.

When he followed them up, there were four doors at the top, but he was pretty sure which one the bitch was hiding behind. No point in wasting any time, and he was pretty sure she wouldn't open up if she knocked, so he told the Bringers to stand back, got as far away as he could, and rammed the door with his head and shoulder as hard as he could. Hey! That's what Tommy Sherman _did_. That's what made him stand out from the other losers out there.

And it was what knocked the apartment door clean off its hinges.

Butch had blocked the doorway, though. Some heavy shit back there.

"Hide!" the chick said. "I'll try to hold them off." Sounded like she was panicking, and that made sense, 'cause Tommy Sherman and the Bringers were going to kick her ass. Hiding wasn't going to do anyone else in there any good, though he'd let the Bringers kill them. Had to give them something to do.

He hit the door again, forcing the stuff inside a bit further into the room. Still not quite far enough for anyone to squeeze in. She said, "Don't!" sounding almost afraid. Good. About time Tommy Sherman got the respect he deserved.

One more solid hit on the door and it moved far enough into the room that he and the Bringers could get in.

He wasn't dumb, standing back and telling the Bringers to go in first, just in case the chick had a gun or a bow or something. They scrambled in, and after a few seconds, he went after them.

There was no one in sight. He directed the Bringers to scour the rest of the house while he tried to figure out what was going on. Seeing nothing, he walked out onto the balcony -

Shit! Shit, shit, shit! The friend and another woman were getting in their cars. How -

Never mind. He didn't see the woman he was after -

A door opened suddenly, off to his right. He felt instead of saw a blow to the side of his head.

Then the back of his skull.

Then, nothing.

X X X X X

Daria walked up to Jane and Aunt Amy, standing by their cars in the empty Arthur Treacher's parking lot. "I owe you a sculpture," she said.


	8. Trust, but Verify

A little bit of timejumping. Filling in what happened in Amy Barksdale's apartment.

X X X X X

Trying to keep the mood as light as possible, Jane said, "Well, buckaroos, looks like we got ourselves a convoy."

"Convoy?" Amy said. "Daria. Please. Explain what's going on." Jane had noticed Amy's resemblance to Daria from the second they met, but never had they resembled each other less. Of course, Amy was in the middle of having her world-view turned upside down, so she was understandably not at her best.

"The people in the van want to kill me, and probably Jane," Daria said, "And by coming here they probably know about you too, which means if you stay, you're dead."

"Dead?"

Daria grabbed her aunt gently but firmly by the shoulders and said, "Yes, Aunt Amy. Dead. Look at me right now. I'm not exaggerating, I'm not hysterical, and I'm not insane. There are bad - people after me right now. You and Rita and I guess Erin are pretty much all I have left at this point in the way of family and I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Please. Go pack a bag. Take stuff you need - and hide any valuable papers. I'm sorry for having led them here, and if I'd been thinking, I wouldn't have. But I was being selfish. I started this trip out wanting to find out about myself, and part of that was having things out with you - take that in a neutral meaning. And, stupidly, even after I was attacked, twice, I tried to continue with my plans. _I will not get you hurt_. Not before we hash out what needs to be hashed out, anyway." The last sentence was said with a slight grin.

Amy had apparently recovered some of her equilibrium, because she said, "And then I can go to hell, right?"

"That depends on how we hash," Daria said with a faint smile. "Now go get that bag. And -" She paused. "Do you have any rope, or ladders?"

"What, those long metal things useful for getting to roofs?" She looked up at the ten-foot ceilings. "They'd be very useful around here." After a second, "I do have some rope, though. I've gone rock climbing."

"Perfect. Because that's going to be our way out of here."

Jane hadn't been expecting _that_. "Whoa, amiga," she said. "The Lanes may be globetrottin' fools, but my athletic activities run strictly in parallel to the ground."

"Well, your other alternatives are going through the pile of furniture and then the guys in the van, tunneling through the walls, or flying."

"You left out teleportation," Amy said. Damn, she recovered quick. Of course, she hadn't had the full exposure yet, just "Something real bad's going on here."

"So I did," Daria said. "Can you think of anything else?"

"Can we turn ourselves invisible?" Jane asked hopefully.

"No. It didn't come with the package. Aunt Amy, where's your rock-climbing equipment?"

"I'll get it," she said. "Then I'll pack."

"I'll help you," Jane said.

"And I'll keep moving furniture. And I promise not to use your sculpture to block the door."

"I don't really need -" Amy began, to Jane as they walked back towards the back of the condominium.

"Oh, that's okay, I don't mind," Jane said. "Besides, I have to pack myself." Which would take all of thirty seconds, as all Jane had to do was change her clothes and apply lipstick; she hadn't unpacked so much as a toothbrush.

Of course, that wasn't the main reason she was going back. She needed to talk to Amy Barksdale, and she needed to do it out of Daria's earshot. Wait. Damn. Didn't vampire slayers have superhuman hearing? Ah well. She'd just have to hope Daria was too distracted.

Not that she was going to hurt Amy Barksdale. Just yell at her a little.

Maybe a lot.

Not for her reaction to what was going on. That would have thrown almost anyone. It had even shaken Trent out of his narcolepsy. The weeks between Daria and her friends' first visit to Lawndale and this "Last Tour" had been some of the most productive of Trent's career, and he'd dragged the rest of Mystik Spiral along for the ride.

No, Jane wasn't upset about that. She just needed to make sure of something.

While Amy peeled off to go into her room, Jane headed for the guest bedroom, stripped and changed clothes (deodorant would have to do for the moment, but she'd need plenty of that) and quickly applied her lipstick. Within a minute she had her bags in the hall and was in Amy's bedroom.

To give the woman credit, she wasn't panicking. She'd changed into jeans and a t-shirt and was quickly packing some more clothing, and a few books, into an old-fashioned hard-sided suitcase. A laptop computer was in its own carrying case. "Damn, that thing looks durable," Jane said, pointing to the suitcase and letting out a low whistle.

"I think it could stop small arms fire," Amy said. "And here are the ropes Daria wanted.'

Jane let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. "Good. That means you're actually taking this seriously."

"And that's why you came in here?"

"That, and to make sure you weren't calling for the nice men in white coats. Again." The last word was said with some force.

"I may not know what's going on, but I know something's going on. I'm relying on Daria's word, and yours, to show me that once we get out of here."

"You'll get your proof soon enough," Jane said. "Now, about calling for the men in the white coats - Daria told me what you did to her. She's here despite that, not because of it."

"It was for her own good," Amy said, "And I hate using that phrase as much as you and Daria hate hearing it."

"I doubt that very much," Jane said. "Pray. Continue."

"I know she wasn't happy about it," Amy said. "It got her out of jail, and into the real world, and I did it knowing damn well she might hate me forever. She doesn't. I believe that to be something of a miracle in and of itself."

"You think because she showed up here it means she doesn't hate you?" Jane asked. "Hoo boy, do you not know your niece. She's here because she thinks you need to talk this about, not because she's not still pissed. And you're lucky it was her she screwed over, and not me. Daria's willing to give you a second chance. Me? I would have cut you off on the spot. And you can take 'cut off' any way you like."

"If I didn't know any better," Amy said, "I'd say you were threatening me."

"Ahhh, who knows better?" Jane said. "Take it how you want to. I'm just here to make sure you don't screw her over again."

With a trace of irritation in her voice, Amy said, "I didn't screw her the first time."

"You may feel that way. Daria's other aunt, whatsername, may feel that way. The good people of Los Angeles may feel that way. Daria does not feel that way, and I'd venture to say will never feel that way. And that's one thing you need to learn if you have any hope of keeping her in your life."

"Why do you care?" Amy asked, and as the question was asked calmly, Jane took it as an honest one.

"I care because, my whole damn life up to about six weeks ago there's been exactly one person who's actually given a crap about me who I give a crap about back. My brother Trent." She was shortchanging the rest of her family slightly, and Tom Sloane more than slightly, but the point held. "Then into my life comes this cool, sarcastic, cynical, pretty damned interesting person, and I'll be damned myself before I see anyone hurt her again if I can prevent it. So here's your warning, "Aunt Amy": Do anything to this woman again 'for her own good' and you'll lose her. And then, I'll hurt you. Am I clear?"

"As an uncontaminated mountain stream," Amy said. "It's good my niece has someone like you in her life."

"Work towards getting her to say the same thing about you and you'll be on the right track," Jane said.

Closing her suitcase, Amy said, "One thing, though. Aren't you doing this for her own good? What makes you different from me?"

Jane's smile was positively evil. "Because, deep down, I'm a selfish little bitch, Amy. I'm not doing this for Daria's own good, though I hope she gets some good out of it. I'm doing this for me."

"I see," Amy said blandly.

"So!" Jane said with mock enthusiasm. "You all ready and rarin' to go?"

"Ready, and able. Willing, I'm still working on. But," she held up a hand to prevent an interruption Jane hadn't been about to make, "I _am_ working on it."

"That'll do for now. Let's get back to Daria. I'm sure by now she has something to show you."

X X X X X

If Amy Barksdale believed Jane Lane's claim of pure selfishness, then she was Grover Cleveland. And she wasn't. Of course, the syllogism was invalid: _If A, then B. B. _Did not imply _A_. But still, her points were well-taken, if uncomfortable. She was always the one who provided the color commentary and the righteousness when it came to her sisters and it was a bit jarring to have her techniques thrown back in her face.

Anyway, she had no intention of hurting Daria again, in any fashion, whether 'for her own good' or not. That was still something she needed to make clear when the current crisis had passed, whatever that crisis happened to be.

Picking up her suitcase and her ropes - no point in taking any of the safety gear, and she could tie the ropes to the balcony railing - and followed Jane out to the living room.

Daria had been moving her furniture, but not quite how Amy had expected. Instead of blocking the door more thoroughly, she'd pulled about half the stuff they'd all put on the catch back off. "Don't take this the wrong way, but are you freaking insane?" Jane said. "Are you trying to make it easier for those berserkers to get here?"

"Yes, actually. I don't want any of them getting so frustrated that they wander around looking for other people to kill. I want their focus to be on getting in here, because that's when you're going to be rappelling down the side of the building. I want them thinking about me, not you."

"Once again, who's they?" Amy asked.

"You'll see in a second. But not long after you see is when I'm going to need you to go. So put your bags on the balcony, without getting the attention of the folks in the van."

Amy, and then Jane, moved their bags to just outside the sliding door, which they kept open. She put the ropes there as well.

"Aunt Amy, come here. Jane, the two of you get ready to go when I say go." To Amy she said, "Can you get your ropes set up quickly?"

Amy nodded. "Quickly enough. But where are we going to meet? I assume you don't want Jane and me to make our daring aerial escape and then just stand around the parking lot."

"Damn. I don't know the area. Where's someplace I won't have a hard time finding?"

Amy thought for a second. "A couple of miles down Richmond Highway there's an Arthur Treacher's. Fast food seafood place. Can't miss it."

"Kind of like Long John Silver's?" Jane asked.

"Bite your tongue, heathen," Amy said. "Arthur Treacher's is much better."

"Okay," Daria said. "That sounds good. Now, Aunt Amy: Come over here and watch the van. Jane, get ready to bolt."

"Can I say again how much I don't like this idea?" Jane said.

"Let me put it this way, Lane. You're goin' over the rail. The rope is optional. Capisce?" Amy couldn't have heard that right.

"I give, I give," Jane said. "But if I fall to my untimely death I will come back and haunt you for all eternity, Morgendorffer."

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

Amy moved over by the window as Daria stepped out onto the balcony. Exactly what her niece did, Amy couldn't tell, but within about a minute six - people? - poured out of the van.

One looked like a stereotypical musclebound jock. The other five, though -

Holy crap. It didn't explain why Daria had spent part of this morning arguing with thin air, but it sure as hell explained what she was running from. Amy had never been especially religious, but right now she was wishing she had something or someone she could honestly pray to.

They were pale, and had scars in place of their eyes, and were dressed in robes that screamed, "Look at us, we're in a cult."

She now believed her niece, on most of the important parts, anyway. Trust but verify, and now, she'd verified.

"Amy, Jane. Go when I say go," Daria said. Amy scrambled to the balcony, with Jane right behind her. They tossed their bags twenty feet down - all but the laptop. That, Amy was carrying with her.

"Go!" Daria said.

They went.

X X X X X

After Daria said go, it was just a matter of fooling the beings outside the door; not that fucking hard, really. The Bringers were following Tommy Sherman's lead, and he was barely smarter than Beavis or Butthead.

The response of the door to the second charge made Daria sure it wouldn't survive a third. She grabbed Aunt Amy's sculpture - made a nice club - and retreated to the balcony.

Her bags went over the edge as she heard the door crunch for the third and final time. There was a small storage area on the left side of the balcony. Daria hurried into it and closed the door. She might be running, but damn, she was going to do some damage before she went. Whoever came out onto the balcony was going to get clobbered, and if it was a Bringer, the fucker wasn't going to survive the experience.

It felt good to cuss again, even for a minute, even to herself. One way she wasn't Daria Lynn. Daria Lynn wasn't a priss about those things, but she kind of thought that cussing should be limited to maximize its effectiveness. Faith swore like someone who scared sailors. Daria Faith? Just every once in a while.

But she'd proven she didn't _need_ to. Just that she wanted to. She had learned something about herself.

She wondered if she could be, entirely, Faith, if she tried.

Here came someone out onto the balcony. And it was Tommy Sherman himself.

Daria waited until he was facing the other way and then hit him twice with the sculpture. The second blow shattered it. Sherman dropped. Daria reached down, felt his pulse - still there - and then disconnected the ropes and vaulted over the balcony.

On the way to her bike, she slashed the van's tires.

Ten minutes later she was walking across the parking lot of an Arthur Treacher's, saying to Aunt Amy, "I owe you a sculpture."

X X X X X

Exclusive to postscript: To those readers who came in to this story, or series, from the Daria end of things: How am I handling the Daria end of things? I realize I've gone seriously AU and Daria isn't the Daria of old, but I'd like to hear from you. Thank you.


	9. A Gate, Stuck Open

"So what do we do now?" Amy asked after Daria explained what had happened to her sculpture.

"There's a lovely place I've heard of," Jane said. "It's called 'the hell out of here.' Let's get there as soon as we can, okay?"

"My exact plan," Daria said. "But first things first. We want to try to stop Tommy Sherman and his Shermanettes from following us for a while."

"How do we do that?" Amy asked.

"Simple. You were getting in your car this morning when you saw some people jump out of a strange van and into the condo building. Then you saw some of them on your balcony. You drove off and called them when you felt safe."

"And if they want me to come back and identify things?" Amy asked.

"Tell them you'll meet them at the station." The First and the Bringers weren't like Glorificus. The Bringers were fast and tough, but human; a group of them invading the station would be brought down by bullets.

"None of that sounds like getting the hell out of here," Jane said.

"No, it doesn't," Daria said. "But I'm getting tired of staying one jump ahead of them. Being harassed by the police might get us a couple of jumps ahead – enough time for a good night's sleep, and to regroup."

Amy nodded. "I see your point. There is one problem, though."

"What's that?"

"Your fingerprints are all over my place. Jane's too."

Shit! Aunt Amy was right. "And, considering where you and I spent eight hours last night, amiga –"

"Where?"

"The police station," Jane said. "After three of those cultist fellows jumped Daria in the middle of the Pizza King."

"Did they think you were at fault?"

"No. We had plenty of witnesses. Including three former local football players just back from college," Daria said

"Joey, Jeffy, and Jamie," Jane said. "The combined IQ of a pair of grapefruit, but reasonably nice guys. Having them back up everything we said was a big help."

"Still, though, two attacks that they know about within about 12 hours, and a third they might know about ,would probably make them suspicious even though I'm, by most standards, the victim in all of this. They might try to put me in productive custody. And I already had one fight against the forces of darkness while in lockup. I don't want two."

"The forces of darkness?" Amy asked. "Why do I suspect you're not exaggerating?"

Daria sighed. "Not in the least, Aunt Amy. I wish I was. And I still owe you that full explanation. But if we're not going to call the police, we at least need to take advantage of Tommy Sherman's incapacity and the air I let out of his tires, and get away from here."

"Reagan, Dulles, or BWI?" Amy asked.

"Possibly not the best idea, amiga, if the bad guy can appear as a ghost. I'm not particularly fond of the idea learning to fly a plane while the pilot and copilot huddle in a corner somewhere because they're seeing their dead mothers." Jane was right. If the first was going to successfully kill her – which it wasn't – it wasn't going to take anyone else with her when she went."

"Ghost?" Amy asked.

"I'm being harassed by an entity called the First Evil. It passes itself off as, literally, evil incarnate, except for the 'incarnate' part.

"So it's just . . . pure evil?"

"Yes. But pure evil that can inspire followers, look like anyone dead, and apparently give people supercharges. That jock you saw yesterday was named Tommy Sherman, and he's as strong as I am."

"How did you get that strong?"

Jane came over and put an arm around both of their shoulders. "Much as I love good exposition, maybe now could be more run and less talk?"

"Jane's right. Again."

"I am? Hot damn! I'm on a roll today!"

"Keep it up and the roll will be Kaiser," Daria said. "Anyway, we should get going. Aunt Amy, you're more familiar with the area – but we don't want to go anywhere that might get anyone else involved in our convoy. So Aunt Rita's out."

"She'd probably be out anyway," Amy said. "I'm not sure she'd be able to handle knowing all of this. And that's not meant as an insult to her, just a character judgment. And that's not even factoring in Erin and Brian." She thought. "If we want speed, then let's get on 95 and just head due south. A few hours should get us somewhere near Richmond. But –" she held up a hand – "I've already gone this morning without showering. A cup of coffee is mandatory."

Jane said, "Hear, hear. I'm not used to being up this early. Lanes sleep till at least 10 AM. It's in the contract."

"This from the girl who wanted to run like hell?" Daria asked.

"Hey, runs need fuel. Take it from an actual runner."

An extra five minutes wouldn't hurt too badly. "There's a Dunkin' Donuts down the block," Daria said. "Grab coffee and something to eat. But can I least get you to eat on the way?" Everyone nodded. "Good. Then let's get going. Amy, when we pull out of Dunkin' Donuts, you lead the way."

"Making sure I don't peel off and head to the nearest insane asylum?"

"Depends whether you're there to commit me or yourself." Daria's voice lacked any trace of amusement. This was one thing she still didn't find funny.

"Whoops. Got any mustard for this foot in my mouth?"

"Just keep chewing."

X X X X X

The First Evil, back in the In-Dark, would have cussed, if such was its nature. Tommy Sherman had been the best of a bad situation; but his work was decidedly less than satisfactory.

If only Caleb wasn't so busy recruiting and getting the vast majority of his Bringers in line. They followed Tommy Sherman because it had told them to. They followed Caleb because they wanted to. He understood them. It had been a wondrous day when the First had brought Caleb into its service.

There was evil everywhere; but finding ones who had exactly what it needed in a servant was far more difficult. Of followers, it had thousands.

The First had needed a servant who was close by. It had considered, and then discarded, a dozen or so others. A local disc jockey wasn't really interested in the hard work. A teacher loathed men – but only men. A plastic surgeon was manipulative and uncaring about anything except money and power – but she lacked the real, killer instinct. A local television personality was utterly without conscience – but lacked a taste for blood. Tommy Sherman hadn't been as intellectually gifted as some of the others, but he had been malicious and willing to do just about anything. That was what had put him over the top. Had it had a wider net, there were others it would have considered; but its range was limited.

As Daria Morgendorffer and her friends were now running, though, that gave the first the option of removing Tommy Sherman if he proved untenable. It would be effort, removing the man's abilities, but that would leave it free to bestow those abilities upon another servant. He would get one more chance, before it moved on to someone else.

Possibly Caleb. Caleb would have hundreds of Bringers at his disposal, and he was already far superior as a warrior to Tommy Sherman. No Slayer could survive that.

But it could only bring hundreds of Bringers together a time or place where the humans and other current inhabitants of this planet would not care. They were fanatically loyal, they were devoted, but en masse, they were not subtle. And it would survive; evil always survived. But it would take time, time it did not believe it had, to build up its followers again, should its current one be decimated or destroyed.

Its opportunity had been created with the advent of the second Slayer. Its window would not be completely open until a Slayer died and was resurrected a second time. The death of a slayer was supposed to bring about the activation of a new one.

Buffy Summers had already died once. A second death would leave a gate open, through which a Slayer was supposed to pass.

But no Slayer would. The line now passed through Daria Morgendorffer. And this gate, stuck open would give it more influence, more ability. The ability to be more than one place at a time; the ability to read people more easily; the ability to have more than one devoted servant.

Buffy Summers would die, again, in 314 days, _if and only if Daria Morgendorffer never returned to Sunnydale_.

Her death would be preferable. The next Slayer would do nothing to alter destiny.

If that failed – well, there were other options.

She had so much rage in her, after all.

X X X X X

Amy Barksdale led the "convoy" off of exit 83. They'd been driving for about two and a half hours - not as much traffic on a weekend, on a weekday this would have been considerably more nightmarish - but this was about as long as she could stand without a stop. She "knew" the Richmond area better than Daria, but she'd been here maybe five times in the past five years. There was a decent chain steakhouse around here, and it was right around 11 AM. Daria hadn't eaten anything at the Dunkin Donuts, and she'd bolted her coffee. Of course, motorcycles didn't have cupholders.

She was hoping they'd have enough time for that explanation Daria had promised, though she understood why she hadn't gotten it yet. Running for one's life was a poor time to have a heart-to- heart with anyone about anything other than "You have the gun, right?"

They didn't have any weapons with them that Amy knew about, and from the looks of those cultists, Amy was wishing they did. She forgave Daria the misuse of the sculpture; it was one of those moderately pricey things she'd picked up because she thought it was something someone at her new income level should have. A vanity purchase, really, and she made damn few of those. She wouldn't miss it.

There it was up ahead: Carly's. Amy pulled into the parking lot, with Jane and Daria right behind her.

It was unexpected to see her niece wearing leather pants, even though they were practical for a motorcyclist. Daria didn't seem like the type to want to show off her figure. Of course, these weren't skintight leather pants made for attracting guys, but they weren't exactly loose, either.

Ah well. That PI she'd met when Daria first got out - Angel - had said that he'd spent more time with Faith in a couple of years than she had in her entire life, and while it had hurt, it was true. She didn't know her niece, for all that they resembled each other and seemed to share a love for cynicism and reading.

The circumstances of getting her out of jail had derailed her plans to get to know her niece better immediately. Now was her chance, even if what she was being told wasn't something she would have expected from the lesser works of Robert E. Howard.

Amy and Jane approached. "I figured you were probably hungry, Daria."

"You could say that. I've developed something of an appetite."

"She put away most of a large Pizza King pizza by herself last night," Jane said. "Before the nice men in the black robes came along to spoil things."

"Where do you put it?" Amy asked.

"You've found out my secret," Daria said. "I'm actually a mobile food-storage device invented by the government in case of emergency. Now I have to kill you. Or at least, eat you." After a second, she said, "A high metabolism. It's all part of the package."

"What package?"

"Let's go order some food," Daria said. "We have enough of a gap at this point between us and our pursuers that I think it's time you got those answers I've been promising." Her cell phone rang. "As soon as I take this call. You go in and get comfy. I'll be in in a couple of minutes."

Amy and Jane went in. Hostess came over and seated them, and a waitress came over and brought them menus right away.

"Three, please," Amy said. "My niece will be joining us shortly."

They studied the menus.

Daria came in about three minutes later and waited until they ordered - and damn, if she didn't go the steak and potatoes route. "And I might want seconds," she said as the waitress was leaving. Daria watched her until she was out of sight.

The second that happened, she said to Amy, "Now let me tell you a story."

X X X X X

You'll hear the contents of the call in the next chapter. And thanks to those of you who believe that I'm doing a good job with the Daria characters.. Any other opinions, I would like to hear. Thank you.


	10. Stakes and Steaks

Daria looked down at the phone – it was Angel. Right. She'd called him last night and this could very well have been his first chance to get back. Dude might have been up all night and getting ready to crash for the day. She told Aunt Amy and Jane to go in and get a seat and that she'd be in a few minutes, and then, once they were inside, opened the phone and said, "Yo!"

Yes, she was still feeling a bit Faith-repressed; why do you ask?

"Daria?"

"Who else would dare answer my phone with a yo?" she asked dryly. "Yeah, Angel, it's me."

"You called last night. Sorry I wasn't there –"

"I've said it before, Angel: You have a life, you have a job to do. It's nice if you're there when I call, not mandatory. I would've said if it'd been a screaming emergency."

"Still sounded somewhat urgent."

"I ain't going to lie to you: It is. I'm facing off against an old enemy of yours and I got my friend Jane and my Aunt Amy in tow. Can't dump them off, 'cause the way I judge this SOB it's perfectly capable of going after my friends or relatives just to get to me."

"Who is it?"

"The First Evil."

Angel said, "You're kidding."

"Do I sound like I'm kidding?"

"Daria, unless you listen closely, you never sound like you're kidding."

Daria smiled. "I suppose that's true. But no, I'm not kidding. I've been attacked three times in the last day, plus gotten two visits from the big guy himself. Once as my sister Quinn, once as Mayor Wilkins. Didn't really work; all it's managed to so far is piss me off."

"Then that's what it wants you to do."

"Excuse me?"

"The First very nearly succeeded in getting me to kill myself to avoid the chance of me letting Angelus out again. It's a master at that kind of manipulation. If you're angry because of what it's doing to you, then it wants you angry."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I can give it some thought – or better yet, call the Doctor." Lynette Vaughn was one of the few people Daria felt a significant degree of affection for. More importantly, she trusted the woman implicitly, and most importantly, she was a criminal psychiatrist. She'd seen evil, in its human form, at any rate.

"I'll do that, but I want any thoughts you have as well. You and B are the only ones I know who've directly faced off against the bastard. I talked to Giles last night and he gave me the scholarly rundown. Always helpful. But both kinds of knowledge are useful."

"Okay," he said. "Two things. One, the First can cause you to have realistic dreams with your dead in them."

"I had one of those last night. A family barbecue in Highland turned into my entire family blaming me for still being alive. I wasn't sure it was the First's doing. Now I know. And I'll remember."

"Good. Second thing. If you see me, Buffy, Spike – or Cameron Kim – touch us, or get us to touch something."

"Why?"

"The First can appear as anyone who's died, remember. Spike and I are dead by definition. Buffy died –"

"Or Faith would never have been called. Of course. And Cameron died on the operating table in Lawndale right after we beat Glory." She had a horrid thought. "Kim's a shapeshifter. Does that mean the First can appear as literally anyone?"

A moment of silence. Then Angel said, "I wouldn't think so. Cameron can't possibly be the first shapeshifter in history to die. If the First could appear as literally anyone, dead or alive, we'd have heard about it by now. Certainly, Giles would have."

"That's a definite relief," Daria said.

"It is. And, Daria, I can't stress this enough: If the First wants you to get angry, don't let it make you angry. Be calm; be cynical; laugh in its face. But whatever it wants you to, don't."

"Thanks. I'll do my best." She thought for a second. Anger. The last time Daria or Faith had gotten out-of-control angry was in prison, when she'd read the chapter in April 10, 1997 about the day of her parents' murders. She had raged, then, for several hours, repeated punching the cell walls and stomping on the cell floor until Doc Vaughn had finally come in and calmed her down.

She hadn't read that chapter of the book, since. And that was one thing the First couldn't force her to do, even in dreams. You couldn't read in dreams. Not more than a few words. And that wouldn't be enough.

And she wasn't the same person, now. Faith had been born of that rage. Faith could deal with that rage. And Daria Faith Morgendorffer was, again, a walking, talking violation of the law of contradiction: She both was, and was not, Faith. So it was possible she could deal with the anger.

Still, she wasn't stupid. If the First wanted her angry, she would stay calm.

Changing the subject, she said, "Any further progress with your assault on Gavin?"

"Yup. We've got him on the run." He chuckled. "And the best part is, the rest of Wolfram & Hart is letting him twist in the wind. He's getting only the help he explicitly asks for. Apparently even a group of evil lawyers have their standards."

"Good."

"We also think we're getting closer to figuring out who masterminded that assassination attempt on you in prison."

Daria stiffened. She hadn't exactly forgotten that someone had sent Mrs. Krueger, but it had fallen by the wayside in the wake of the assault on Glory, the defense of Cameron Kim, and her recent road trip. "Who?" she asked.

"Not that close. We have a solid lead, though. Don't worry; this is important to us. I'll let you know when we actually do. Because I'm pretty sure you're going to want to be in on the assault."

"Got that right," Daria said. "And with that, I think I need to get going. If I stay out here much longer, Amy might come out after me and I don't want her overhearing this stuff before I have a chance to explain it on my own terms."

"You sure you should?"

"I have to," Daria said. "Ain't saying anything about Faith still kind of being around, but the First has been too obvious for me to just rely on the Sunnydale blindness effect."

"Understood. Good luck."

"And to you." Daria hung up and walked inside, where Amy and Jane were waiting.

X X X X X

Daria said, "Let me tell you a story."

Jane said, "If it's the one about the lovely lady and her three very lovely girls, we've heard it already."

"It's a different story. Please, try to minimize the interruptions until I'm done. Oohs and ahhs of astonishment or disbelief are acceptable."

"I've been waiting to hear this," Amy said. "I'll try not to interrupt. Or run screaming into the night."

"It's daytime," Jane pointed out helpfully.

"That should make that part of it easier," Amy said.

"Okay," Daria said. "This is a story about magic, and vampires, and a hellgod. It began for me when I was born, though I didn't know about it. It started for Faith in the spring of 1998 . . ."

Daria had made her way through two ribeye steaks, a baked potato with butter and sour cream, two and a half Cokes, and was in the middle of a big slice of apple pie when she finally said, "So. Aunt Amy. Any questions?" She hadn't outed Angel completely, though she had mentioned that he knew all about the supernatural. She hadn't mentioned Faith's continued existence. Beyond that, she'd told her aunt pretty much everything she could think of, condensed into about 45 minutes.

Amy, put bluntly, looked stunned. She hadn't run screaming into the night, but she hadn't asked any questions either. Jane had more than made up for that, asking many, many questions, some of which were even serious, which is why she'd specified "Aunt Amy" when she made the call for questions.

"I think you broke her like you broke my brother," Jane said.

"Nothing's broken," Amy said. "Nothing at all. But it is an awful lot to take in."

"No kidding," Jane said seriously. "But I've seen proof."

"You've seen vampires?"

"No – well, yes, actually. One of them. But he probably wasn't a good example."

Daria said, "Spike isn't a good example of anything except how to be a bad example."

"But I have," Jane said, "Seen magic; I've seen someone run up as fast as the Flash would have, pick someone up like you or I would pick up a camera, and run off just as fast; I've seen people claiming to be Knights attack innocent people, or nearly so; I've seen a woman change into a leopard; and I've seen Daria here do things physically that Olympic athletes would cheerfully murder their own mothers to be able to pull off. Hell, she outran me without hardly trying, and my ability to run is one of the few things I'm confident in. You saw her pick up the sofa yourself, and you saw those cultists."

"Now," Daria said, "Is an excellent time for the application of Ockham's Razor."

"No need for that," Amy said. "I was half-convinced already. But it is a lot to take in all at once."

"So no need to worry about you contacting Sheppard Pratt?" Jane asked.

"For Daria, no. I'm not so sure about me."

"I know how that feels," Daria said. "It took me a while to be convinced, and it had already happened to me, in some sense."

Amy leaned forward in her seat and said, "I have one question: does this whole 'Slayer' thing explain your eyesight?"

Smiling slightly, Daria said, "It figures that that would be the first thing you'd pick on.

"But I have," Jane said, "Seen magic; I've seen someone run up as fast as the Flash would have, pick someone up like you or I would pick up a camera, and run off just as fast; I've seen people claiming to be Knights attack innocent people, or nearly so; I've seen a woman change into a leopard; and I've seen Daria here do things physically that Olympic athletes would cheerfully murder their own mothers to be able to pull off. Hell, she outran me without hardly trying, and my ability to run is one of the few things I'm confident in. You saw her pick up the sofa yourself, and you saw those cultists."

"Now," Daria said, "Is an excellent time for the application of Ockham's Razor."

"No need for that," Amy said. "I was half-convinced already. But it is a lot to take in all at once."

"So no need to worry about you contacting Sheppard Pratt?" Jane asked.

"For Daria, no. I'm not so sure about me."

"I know how that feels," Daria said. "It took me a while to be convinced, and it had already happened to me, in some sense."

Amy leaned forward in her seat and said, "I have one question: does this whole 'Slayer' thing explain your eyesight?"

Smiling slightly, Daria said, "It figures that that would be the first thing you'd pick on. Only partially. I went from around 20/200 to around 20/80 when I was 'called.' Richard Wilkins got me a LASIK surgery to get to 20/15. One of the few good things the man ever did for - Faith."

"And he was the one you were seeing last night?" Amy asked.

"Yes. The First apparently sought to play on my emotional connection to a deceased father figure, not understanding that my general opinion of Richard Wilkins is one of contempt. I may remember much of what Faith did; I do not have her emotional connections." And this was somewhat true. Daria Faith Morgendorffer, while she had, at times, Faith's emotions and Faith's instinct's, did not remember Richard Wilkins fondly, and did not have Faith's conflicted and somewhat guilty feelings towards Buffy and her friends. She did have a residual fondness for Angel, but then, Daria had reason to like Angel as well, as he and Doc Vaughn had been responsible for getting Faith out of jail even as Aunt Amy and the court system of the State of California had been trying to erase her from existence.

"And your first thought was to get me involved, too. How sweet." It was good seeing Amy able to joke about it, even a little.

Jane said, "No, her first thought was to get _me_ involved. And I have many creative ways of thanking her. Not all involve cattle prods."

"Still," Daria said, "I shouldn't have led it to you. For that, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let my selfish desire to settle our relationship get you into trouble. And that's why we're not going to Aunt Rita's. Or Grandma Morgendorffer's, for that matter."

"Apology accepted," Amy said. "Given what you've been through, it's not a surprise that you're not thinking clearly."

"I should be, though. There's no way to physically fight something you can't hit, and probably no way to magically destroy a force of the universe. I have to be able to outthink it, because otherwise, I'm dead. I would like to know what it wants, and yes, I've tried asking it, and it doesn't feel inclined to tell me."

"Imagine that," Amy said dryly.

"Still, we can't exactly follow the pattern of 'beat bad guy up, get ahead of bad guy, stop and rest, wait for bad guy to catch up, repeat," Jane said. "At least, not forever."

Amy said, "I agree."

"So the option is a heroic last stand?" Daria asked. "I'd rather avoid that. Being a Slayer may have a short life expectancy -"

"Can I officially call down the wrath of the gods on whoever thought having teenaged girls fight vampires until their untimely death was a good idea?" Amy said, with a bit of anger in her voice.

"Call down as much wrath as you want," Daria said. "I'm not fond of them myself. Still, it's not something I can exactly ignore."

"I suppose not," Amy said. "I wasn't thinking 'untimely last stand' so much as 'build up our lead.' And the best way to do that is - I hate to say this - for us all to use one car. We can trade off driving and someone can sleep in the back seat."

"Boy, you're highly adaptable, ain'tcha?" Jane said.

"The choice is running screaming into the night or sticking with you until this thing ends, somehow. I choose to stick by you. I do reserve the right to make snarky comments."

Jane said, "Right? Hell, that's a requirement."

"One problem," Daria said. "I'm only licensed to drive a motorcycle."

"And it took me years to actually get a car that didn't look like it would fall apart if someone spat on the hood," Jane said. "I'm not just abandoning it in a steakhouse parking lot 200 miles away from home."

"Richmond has an airport; how about long-term parking?" Amy said.

"I can do that," Jane said. "I won't like it, but I'll do it."

"And you?"

Daria shook her head. "Given that I couldn't drive the car anyway, I'm not going to ditch the motorcycle. But with this we should be able to drive for longer with fewer stops. With any luck, that'll get us some lead time, because we've got a long trip ahead of us."

"And where are we going, O fearless leader?" Jane asked.

"You were right, Jane; run, fight, repeat, is no way to go through life. So we need to go somewhere we have backup. Real backup. And Aunt Amy: I'm sure you're going to _love_ seeing Angel again."


	11. Jane, Plain

Someone was kicking Tommy Sherman. Not hard enough to hurt him, but hard enough that he could feel it.

He opened his eyes – ouch – and saw that it was two of the Bringers. They backed off as soon as they saw his eyes open. His head hurt like hell –

Shit! That Daria chick had ambushed him! Suckered him like a Statue of Liberty play and clocked him over the head! He looked at his watch – they'd charged up the stairs at quarter till eight and it was past 10 now.

"It's good to see you awake, Mr. Sherman. You slept through your classes at Laaaawndale High like that as well." Ms. Li's voice was coming from inside the apartment, which was now trashed. The Bringers were milling around, not sure what to do. "On your feet!" She said. "The Slayer is getting further and further away!"

He stood up, a bit unsteadily. He felt the back of his head; his hair was matted with blood.

"Come _on_, Mr. Sherman. Your lack of results is most unpromising. Oh, this is bad news, bad news. For you."

"What?"

"Against my better judgment, I'm giving you one more chance to catch and stop the Slayer. If it doesn't work, well, I will not be responsible for the consequences. And there will be consequences, oh, believe you me."

He didn't need to ask what kind of consequences. You didn't ask things with the kind of power Ms. Li what the consequences were, 'cause they would never be good. You didn't screw things up and expect to be just released, like the Eagles had done. No, Tommy Sherman had one more chance to get things right or he was going to get killed, if he was lucky.

"I believe you," he said. "Just let me wash my hair and I can be on the road."

"Mr. Sherman!" she sounded almost offended. "This is no time to be concerned about your appearance. This is the time for action!"

"Yeah, I know. But I also know that if I go out with my head caked in blood someone'll call the cops, and we don't need that kind of attention. Hey – why haven't any cops come yet? Someone has to have heard me pounding the door down."

"They did. The consequences were most unpleasant for them."

"Dead?"

"As doornails, Mr. Sherman. Now come here."

"What?"

"Stand where I'm standing. I'm only going to do this for you once. It drains me and you're not worth any more effort than this. Wash your hair when we're done and then get after Ms. Morgendorffer. They're a hundred miles away by now, and getting farther with every second you delay." Tommy Sherman didn't move. Stand where she was standing?

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Just stand there. I'll come to you." And before he could move, Ms. Li moved over and then on top of him. It felt – good, but not that kind of good. When she moved away his head didn't hurt anymore and he didn't feel tired.

"Go, Mr. Sherman. I must recuperate. If I see you again before Daria Morgendorffer is dead, things will be most unpleasant, do you understand me? _Most_ unpleasant."

She winked out. Tommy Sherman walked into the apartment and found the bathroom, which wasn't as wasted as the rest of the place. He grabbed the shampoo – not the smelly kind, which was good – and gave his hair a quick washing while he leaned over the tub. He got it to where you couldn't see the blood, ran a hairbrush through it until he looked pretty good, and left.

On the way out, he raided the fridge.

In the parking lot, he cussed; the bitch had cut the van's tires. He couldn't lead five Bringers down Richmond Highway, either, looking for new wheels. The cops would be around soon enough; someone would notice the door or the dead people, and he didn't want to be anywhere nearby when that happened.

He went back inside and started trying doors. Second-floor apartment had two dead people inside and – there they were – two sets of car keys.

There were over a dozen cars left in the lot, but he got lucky: One of them opened the third one he found. SUV, so the Bringers would fit if he ordered them to squeeze together, and he did.

The bitch was somewhere well south of here.

Time to make up for lost time.

X X X X X

They were leaving Richmond International Airport sometime past 1 PM, headed as west as they could. For the moment, they were more concerned with direction than speed. Amy had a good road map book and eventually she'd get Jane to point them to an interstate – probably 64, if she remembered right - but for now, they were just driving.

It hadn't been hard for Daria to convince her that hopping on a plane was a bad idea; she didn't want to see the pilot running down the middle of the cabin screaming about his dead mother, whether he was actually seeing her or not. Driving carried less risk.

Hmmm. There was something no one had thought of yet: The train. It put them in one place, but Sherman would never be able to catch up on them, and there was significantly less risk of plummeting from the sky. She'd bring it up to Daria at their next rest stop.

Which wasn't scheduled for another couple of hours. Daria was behind them, on her motorcycle, though most of her baggage was now in the back seat; everything except _Dhalgren_ and her weapons. Amy'd thought them weaponless, but apparently, she'd been wrong; Daria had three stakes, a knife, and a flail.

"Why a flail?" Amy had asked.

"Souvenir. Picked it up when we were fighting the Knights of Byzantium out in the middle of nowhere."

"So, nothing magical about it?"

"It can do card tricks."

"Amusing. Now, seriously?"

"Seriously, no. But it can be useful for knocking idiots over the head."

"Does that happen a lot?"

"You'd be surprised."

Actually, she probably wouldn't. There were times in her career as a writer she could have used a good flail. Sometimes against people who weren't happy being interviewed, but most often against garden-variety morons. And there were an awful lot of morons in the garden.

She'd been hoping being – well, trapped was the wrong word, she wasn't trying to trap her niece – in the car with Amy would have given the two of them a chance to talk. Right now, they were making common cause and Amy was convinced her niece wasn't insane, but she wanted more.

In the meantime, she was here with Jane Lane, who was bright and an interesting conversationalist, but still seemed to be holding something back, a bit. She obviously didn't fully trust Amy, and Amy couldn't blame her. She was quite protective of Daria for someone who'd just met her about six weeks ago, but then, if what she'd been saying about her own past was true, it was understandable she'd want to keep one of the few people she clicked with safe. The gods knew that Amy was similarly protective of her still somewhat fragile rebuilt relationship with Rita, who had proven during both what happened with Daria and afterwards to have depths of fortitude and intelligence that Amy had only recently begun giving her credit for.

"So. Artiste extraordinaire?" she asked.

"Yes," Jane said. "Strong men tremble."

"What about strong women?"

"Oh, they tremble too," Jane said. "My work isn't sexist."

"Well, that's good to know."

"What's on your mind?" Jane asked.

"Why can't I just be interested in small talk?"

"Oh, I'm sure you are, but right now isn't really the time for small talk. We're a hop, skip and jump ahead of the agents of a total lunatic, remember? So either you want to know more about the kind of person your niece is hanging out with, or you want to know more about your niece – or you want to know more about the ghoulies and goblins and long-legged beasties. I can't help you much there. I know just enough to know that I don't know enough, and I would have preferred to keep that way, but life tends to laugh at you when you make plans like that. So, what do you want to know, and who do you want to know it about?"

"You're not much for subtle, are you?" Amy asked.

"Aahh, subtlety keeps getting missed by people who don't have the brainpower to figure it out. Which constitutes most of humanity. If I want subtle, I paint, or sculpt, or shoot. In person? Direct works better. And at that, you're lucky I'm not charging you."

Amy liked this young woman. "You'd charge me for talking to you?"

"Oh, heavens, no. I'd charge you for asking me serious questions. Trivial things and small talk are free." She waved a hand. "But, anyway, I'm in a good mood right now, so the first few are on the house."

"Isn't that what drug dealers say?"

Jane frowned. "Damn! My secret plan has been foiled. Still. Ask away. If I know, and feel it's any of your damn business, I'll tell you. But I get to ask you a question in return, and if I answered yours, you have to answer mine. Deal?"

"Deal. And mind if I bring you along at my next contract signing? You negotiate like a Hollywood lawyer."

"Naaah. Once I actually start having to know stuff, my eyes glaze over. So. Ask."

"How did you and Daria meet?"

"Start with an easy one, eh?"

"Yes," Amy said, "I prefer to work my way up to the rack and thumbscrews."

"Good thinking. Daria and I met on a plane. She was asleep and I started sketching her. Then she woke up and we began to talk and found out we were simpatico. My turn. Do you think Daria was actually out of her mind when you had her declared that?" At Amy's apparently somewhat startled look, Jane said, "Hey, I said: I don't do subtle. Guns a'blazin', that's Janey's style."

"Well, dissociative identity disorder is a mental illness -"

"Try again," Jane interrupted. "Less dictionary definition, more honest thought process."

"Hmmm. No, I guess not. Apart from the matter of Faith, she seemed perfectly rational."

"Oh boy, do I have a follow-up for you, but your turn."

"Did you really ever have only one person in your life who gave a crap about you?" Amy said.

"You build up quickly," Jane murmured. "Strictly speaking? No. My brother Trent was the only one who was consistently there, the rest of my family being willing to gallivant around the world at a moment's notice on whatever artistic or personal quest struck their fancy. They care about me, in their own way, but they've never been there for me. I also had a boyfriend, Tom, who I dated for about eight months; we're still friendly when we see each other, but we're not particularly close." She grinned, and it was an evil grin. "My turn. So you had Daria declared insane for your own convenience?" Amy didn't answer. "Well?" Jane asked pointedly.

"I'm thinking. And the answer is yes, but. Yes, it was helpful for us to officially be able to ignore Daria's wishes when it came to keeping Faith as part of her life. But it was for her convenience as well. This way all of Faith's actions would be counted as part of her illness and there wouldn't be any repercussions once she was declared cured."

"And another follow-up springs right to mind. Your turn."

"You said you've seen her fight, right?"

"Yes. And, to be nice, I won't count that as your question."

Amy refrained from sticking out her tongue, as despite the occasional asides this was a serious conversation and she intended to keep it that way. "Thank you. How good is she? I need to know how much I need to worry." And she would worry, even if Jane told her that Daria could beat up the entire roster of the WWF, blindfolded, with one hand behind her back. Her niece was a nearly lone fighter, drafted into a war she was destined to lose, fighting an unfightable nebulous supervillain who made Lord Foul the Despiser look like Casper the Friendly Ghost.

"Well, from what I've seen and heard, pretty damned good. She was a whirling dervish at the battle with the Knights of Byzantium; almost as good as that other Slayer, Buffy. She used the flail like she'd been born to it. She handled those three cultists in Pizza King fairly easily. And, and I heard this from independent sources, she managed to hold off that Glory chick while everyone else was down or fighting other things." She paused. "Good?"

"Good." Didn't assuage her fears entirely – nothing really could - but it was good to have independent confirmation that Daria hadn't been entirely thrown to the wolves. "Your turn."

Jane said, "If you could have gotten Daria out, guaranteed, with Faith, would you have done it?"

"That's a what if question," Amy said.

"You noticed," Jane said, drawing out the last word slightly. "Answer it."

"Give me a second," "In the meantime, I think we're not that far from I-64. There's a road map book on the back seat." Jane nodded and reached around for the book as Amy began thinking.

Would she?

How much did she blame what had happened on Daria's other personality? That Daria wouldn't have 'gone bad' and murdered two people was a foregone conclusion. Faith, in her four years of existence, had very nearly destroyed her niece's life – and done her best to end it. Only Angel's insight had stopped Faith from, in essence, committing suicide.

With Faith around, Daria would have always had the stigma – always had people wondering whether she'd fooled everyone and was still the evil bitch Faith had been. She still had that, to some extent, but she had the establishment officially saying otherwise. And her life was a lot easier for it.

So – "No."

"One word?"

"One word. It took me a while to come up with that one word. But one word."

"Okay. You answered." Then Jane gave her directions to 64, and the rest of the trip was spent more or less in silence.

X X X X X

They got off of I-64 around Lexington, Virginia, and pulled into an Exxon not far off of the interstate. Daria checked her watch as she dismounted. 3:29 PM and they'd gone well over a hundred miles.

Still, they couldn't stick around here too damn long. Enough time to gas up, stretch, buy (and, in Daria's case, consume) a few snacks and something to drink, and for Jane to take over driving for a few hours.

Daria'd just made her purchase – a couple of candy bars and an Ultra Cola – and walked outside when she saw it. A Bringer, stalking directly towards her, from across the parking lot.

_Son of a motherfucking bitch!_ How the hell had the Bringers beaten them here?

They couldn't have. No fucking way. No one had ever mentioned the First being able to teleport its followers. Had that been the case, she would have been dead already. And she knew it had some kind of ability to get into people's minds – couldn't inflict horrible dreams on someone if you couldn't do that – but they hadn't known where they were going to pull off the Interstate until shortly before they did so.

Wait. Both the First and Tommy Sherman knew that there was no way one Bringer could stop her. So this had to be an attack of opportunity and the three of them had just had the bad luck to take their rest stop when there happened to be one of the First's followers nearby. Why the hell the First was willing to waste one of its followers, she had no fucking clue; but –

She ran towards it. Right before she got to it, it passed a woman just getting out of her car; without hesitation, it drew a knife and slashed at her throat.

Daria hit it just before it connected. The woman screamed, drawing everyone's attention, as Daria pounded the Bringer into the pavement.

It slashed with its knife twice; Daria blocked both blows and slammed its head down until it stopped slashing.

Then she got up. The woman looked at her and said, "Thank you –" 

"You're welcome," Daria said.

"He just came up –"

"I know," Daria said. "I saw him. You should be okay."

She turned back to where Jane and Amy were running up to her. Standing away from the distraught woman, Amy said, "Are you okay?"

"Yes. It was just one Bringer. Not even a challenge, really. But we need to get out of here now. We can stop again in twenty minutes or so and I'll grab something then, but we need to be gone."

"Why?"

"Because I just figured out why the First had a lone Bringer attack us."

"Why?" Jane asked.

Daria pointed back to the woman she'd rescued, who was now on the phone. "Hello? 911?" the woman began.

Then she said, "That's why."


	12. Melody Powers to the Rescue

One force the First Evil believed in was chance. It was skilled at calculating the future, but fortune always played a part. If not for fortune, it would already have its increased power and Caleb would have the abilities he deserved.

It was also fortune that had placed one lone servant within range of Daria Morgendorffer and her companions when they had stopped. The First had drawn from the companions' minds that they were going to drive for as many hours in the day as they could stand, and Tommy Sherman and his five Bringers were two hours behind them, so it needed to delay them.

It had considered simply appearing as one of the dead on the road in front of them and inducing one or both to swerve off of the road, but it couldn't quite place itself that precisely in front of a moving target. It was something it was remembering as a possibility for future use.

The First had told the Bringer to attack someone else while the Slayer was watching within view of as many other people as possible. Publicity was its ally, at the moment.

It had had to withdraw to the In-Dark before it saw the results. It could not perceive unless it was "looking" through the gateway. Its predictions were that either the Slayer would stay there and wait for the police, and allow Mr. Sherman the time to catch up with her; or that she would flee, ahead of the police, and invite their attention as well, which meant that they would undoubtedly apprehend her, and the prime difference would be how long it took its temporary servant to do what had to be done.

In the fleeting glimpses it could get of Daria Morgendorffer's mind, it could sense a certain amount of anger. Not the amount it needed, not yet.

It needed more. It needed uncontrolled rage.

Death would be preferable.

There was also what to do with Mr. Sherman, should he fail again. The First had learned its lesson. In the future, it would not settle for the best available. The Bringers could, possibly, have kept Daria Morgendorffer in check until he had been able to find another.

If only Caleb could have been spared! But the Bringers he had, he was developing a connection with. The Bringers followed Tommy Sherman because the First had told them to. They had little more respect for him than the First did. They followed Caleb because he wanted to.

He understood them.

Expecting that depth of connection from a servant recruited in a hurry had, perhaps, been unreasonable.

And Mr. Sherman had managed, at least, to enrage Daria Morgendorffer, to a certain extent.

All was not as it would have preferred.

But, for the moment, it would suffice.

X X X X X

"Calling 911 makes sense," Aunt Amy said.

"Of course it does. That's not the point," Daria said, a trace of irritation entering her voice. "The point is, we can't be anywhere near here when they show up – not unless we want Tommy Sherman and his goons waiting for us when we get out of the police station."

"So you're suggesting we leave?" Amy asked.

"Exactly that. Here. Take my soda and my candy bars. We can stop again in about twenty minutes and I'll eat them then."

"Makes sense to me," jane said. "Give me the keys, Ms. Barksdale."

Amy apparently agreed with Daria's reasoning, because she didn't make any further arguments. She just handed Jane her keys, took Daria's food, and retreated to her car.

Daria, meanwhile, was keeping an ear on the woman's call to the police as she slowly moved towards her motorcycle. She had her helmet one and was just about to get one when the woman said, "Hey, hold on! Where are you going?"

"You don't need me," Daria said, sounding as much like Faith as she dared. "The police'll take care of him. I got places to be. If dude over there wakes up before the cops get here, run." He shouldn't wake up anytime soon, but definitely better to be safe where Bringers were concerned.

"What's your name?" she said. Jane was pulling out of the Exxon parking lot and heading back towards the

One came to her, unbidden; a name she'd planned on using had she ever begun the Cold War spy story homage/parodies she'd planned on writing. "Melody," she said. "Melody Powers."

There were sirens in the distance. She had to get going. Saying nothing else, she jumped on her bike, started it, and began to leave the parking lot. Towards her right side - away from the interstate - is where the police were coming from.

Luck was on her side. It was about damn time, too.

Calmly, so she wouldn't attract attention, she rode away, leaving the parking lot right as the police were entering it by the entrance furthest from her.

Jane and Aunt Amy were up the block a bit, waiting for her; she followed them back onto I-64.

That had been a narrow escape.

They'd be harassed like this all the way across the country.

- unless they did something to delay Tommy Sherman, the way he'd delayed them.

They couldn't delay the First -

Could they?

It might be worth looking into. See if Giles or Wes could do some research.

She looked behind her. No police.

Good. Not all cops were on the level of those from Highland and Sunnydale. The Kern County Sheriff's Office had proven that. Still, even though Daria was the victim every time and had witnesses to prove it, even the dumbest police would notice a pattern like this, if given the chance.

If Daria had her way, they'd never get it; but how often had she been getting her way over the last few years?

About twenty minutes later, Jane and Amy pulled off the interstate on an exit marked Grafton Street and ended up in the parking lot of a McDonald's.

Jane came up, Daria's candy bars and said, in a slightly mocking imitation of a 1930s gangster voice, "So. The coast clear?"

Next to her, Amy said, "Why are you asking about weather patterns?"

"I was - oh, you're good, Barksdale."

"I try."

Daria had swallowed about a third of the Ultracola and was munching on the candy bar when she finally answered Jane's question. "I think so. But we shouldn't linger too long. Just in case the woman I rescued had an eidetic memory and our pictures are even now winging their way towards law enforcement offices around the country."

"Without a 'shoot to kill' order, I hope," Amy said.

"No. We're simply witnesses. It's probably 'shoot to wound.' She drained the rest of the soda in one gulp. "I have a phone call to make before we go on. Amuse yourselves."

As Daria took out her phone, Jane turned to Amy and said "patty cake, patty cake?"

She couldn't hear Jane's answer, because the person on the other end picked up. "Hello?" the voice came.

Not quite the voice she'd wanted, but it would do. "Tara?"

"Daria! Hi, um, how's it going? Giles ex, explained who was after you."

"So you know the answer is 'not well.' I'm driving across the country with Jane and my aunt in tow as though all the forces of hell were after me. Those that aren't currently in Sunnydale or giving Angel a hard time. But I do thank you for asking." The last was not said sarcastically. Daria and Tara MacLay were not close friends, but she had always been open and pleasant and had earned that in return, inasmuch as Daria was able to provide it. "I called to ask you - well, Willow and you - a couple of favors."

"What?" Tara asked.

"The First has an agent named Tommy Sherman after me. He's a former quarterback at Lawndale High School, in Maryland. Typical muscular jock in personality and appearance. He and several Bringers have been riding me since Lawndale. I would appreciate anything she could do, via her computer expertise, to slow him down or stop him, without actually killing him."

"That, that sounds doable," Tara said. "By the way, you don't sound much like Faith right now."

"That's due to the company," Daria said. "Remember who knows and who doesn't."

"Oh. Right. And what's the other thing?"

"Research the First Evil. I need to know if there's anything I can do to slow _it_ down, somehow."

"After that," Tara said. "Why, why don't we cure cancer and bring about, um, world peace?"

"I realize it's a tall order. I don't expect miracles. But I would appreciate anything you can do. And on the off chance it comes to Sunnydale, be on the lookout for anyone who's died. And that includes Buffy, Angel, Spike, and Cameron Kim."

"Of course," Tara said.

"And Tara?"

"Yes?"

"You really need to stop being so aggressive."

Laughing, Tara said, "I'm working on it."

They said goodbye, and as Daria hung up she turned to Amy and Jane and said, "Ready?"

"I was born ready," Jane said. "Of course, a lot has happened since then.

"What was that call about?" Amy asked.

"I asked a friend to see if they could do anything that might slow down Tommy Sherman," Daria said. "Nothing that would get him killed."

"How about maimed?" Amy asked.

"Maimed, I don't have a problem with."

X X X X X

Jane and Amy spent a while in a not particularly amiable silence. The only conversation occurred when they hashed out a radio station to listen to; their musical tastes weren't dramatically different, but neither was particularly in a musical mood. Sports talk and regular talk radio were right out.

In the end, they settled for NPR. Not Jane's typical taste, but better than anything else they could find.

It was a while later - a few minutes after they crossed into West Virginia - when Amy said to Jane, "I assume the no bothered you?"

After a minute or so, Jane said "It did," Jane said. "That's an issue for you and Daria to hash out, assuming you have the chance. I'm not Daria's surrogate. Me being irritated at you and her being irritated at you are two different things. And now it's my turn."

"What?"

"We made an agreement, Barksdale. A few hours back, but far as I'm concerned it's still on. I answered your question, so you have to answer mine. No, you said. No, meaning you would have let Daria rot in jail, or no, meaning you would have shoved the removal of Faith down her throat even if that hadn't been an issue?"

""No. No you don't."

"Then it's a good thing I didn't care about looking good," Amy said. "I wouldn't have let Daria stay in jail."

"Mmm-hmm." Well, that answered her question, didn't it? Amy clearly had taken Faith personally. Jane wasn't completely sure why she cared so much, except that she really, really liked Daria Morgendorffer, in a decidedly heterosexual way, of course, even if she'd say it about as often as the moon turned green.

And this new version wasn't so different from the old, all things considered.

"My turn?" Amy asked.

Jane shook her head. "Naaah, I think we're done for now."

"Do you dislike me?"

"You're not my favorite person in the world," Jane said. "You seem cool enough otherwise and if you hadn't screwed Daria over it we might be a damn sight friendlier. But that's a counterfactual."

You know what those are?"

"No. I'm a complete moron." Jane hadn't heard the word before, but was perfectly capable of working thing like that on occasion, thank you very much. Her straight C average did not make her stupid, dammit. "It's a what if question. What if Kennedy hadn't been shot? What if Daria had moved to Lawndale like she was supposed to? What if I opened the side door and shoved you out of the car?"

"That's more of a speculation on the future," Amy said.

"Details, details."

X X X X X

Tommy Sherman barreled down Interstate 64 as fast as he could without being stupid about it. If he went 90, the cops'd be on him eventually. So, speed limit 65, he was going 75.

One more chance, he had; well, that was all he was going to need. He'd stopped for a piss a half hour back and had damn near had a heart attack when Ms. Li had shown up next to him.

"What are you doing, Mr. Sherman? The police completely missed Ms. Morgendorffer and now she's practically in West Virginia!"

"Maybe the Bringers're okay with pissing themselves, but I gotta use a men's room. Chill out, okay? I'll be back on the road in a minute."

"Delays, delays, this is not going according to plan, _not _going to plan at all. I need you out there."

"And I'm going. But I gotta eat and I gotta shit and I gotta pee. I might not have to sleep a whole hell of a lot, but I don't wanna face that chick again without being charged up, you know?"

"Just get to it, and remember Mr. Sherman, this is your last chance!"

She'd disappeared as he left the convenience store men's room, which was good, because Tommy Sherman hadn't wanted to try to explain why he was walking out of the toilet with a dumpy broad like Angela Li. Maybe if she'd been hot.

Anyway, now he was pushing hard, going fast as he dared, just past Lexington, with the radio off; the damn Bringers made weird noises when he put the radio on. Didn't matter if it was rock, country, or ESPN. Only thing they seemed to like was the classical station, and Tommy Sherman would've flung himself out the car door before listening to that artsy crap.

Sirens behind him. Damn. He looked in the rear view mirror and pulled over -

_Shit_. They were following _him._ No idea why; he hadn't been speeding, and he'd stolen the thing way the hell across the state.

Well, he couldn't damn well try to run from the cops. Only choice was to try to bluff it out.

But hey! He was Tommy Sherman! No way he couldn't put something past a bunch of dumb cops.

He pulled over to the side of the road, ordered the Bringers not to do anything unless he told them to, and leaned out of the window as the cop came close. She gestured for the window to be rolled down.

"What's the problem, officer?"

"You Thomas Andrew Sherman?"

"Yeah, that's me," he said, "My friends call me Tommy."

She took a step back and drew her weapon. "Step out of the vehicle, sir."

What? "Why?"

No! He'd never prove he could do it if he was in jail! Turning his head, he told the Bringers "Get her!"

They didn't move.

"Are you fucking deaf? I said-"

"Are _you_ deaf?" the cop said. "Out of the car before I count to three."

_The Bringers weren't listening to him anymore._

God damn it.

Li did a lot of things, but she hadn't made him bulletproof.

He stepped out of the car. Once he had the chance, he'd overpower the cop and run.

The cop went through the whole "on the ground while I cuff you" routine. Right as she was leaning down to put the handcuffs on, telling him "Thomas Sherman, you are under arrest for twelve counts of child -" the Bringers erupted out of the far side of the SUV and ran away as fast as they could.

His best chance, while she was distracted for a split second. He rolled over and knocked the cop off of her feet. She fell to the pavement on top of him.

She was kind of hot; there were times Tommy Sherman would have enjoyed this, But not right now. He pushed her off him into the SUV and scrambled to get back in while she was stunned.

He didn't quite make it.


	13. Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch

Author's Note: Marian Ballard, Aaron Beaumont, and Lynette Vaughn are my creations. Everyone else was created by either Joss Whedon or the team of Glenn Eichler and Susie Lynn Lewis.

X X X X X

Trooper Marian Ballard immediately went to her car after shooting the suspect. She explained what had happened and called for an ambulance and some backup. Then she grabbed the first aid kit and went back to where Sherman was now lying on the pavement, bleeding out of his left shoulder. She handcuffed him, read him his rights, and then did her best to bandage the wound.

Sherman was a suspect in thirteen child molestation cases in Maryland and Virginia. He'd also stolen the SUV he was riding in. And those people he'd been riding with, or someone like them, who'd run off, had been seen in several incidents in Maryland and Virginia over the last couple of days.

She thought about how much luck sometimes mattered in this job. A fellow trooper had noticed Sherman in a convenience store about 45 minutes ago, and when he got back to his car had seen the APB that had been issued for Virginia, Maryland and West Virginia. He'd put out the word and Marianne had been lucky enough to see him when she'd gotten on 64 a few minutes back.

Sherman was muttering about someone named Ms. Lee or Li and someone named Dora and how they'd both screwed him over. Despite the bullet in his shoulder, he'd been conscious, and he understood the Miranda. He didn't seem scared so much as pissed off.

Well, Ballard would have been pissed if she'd been a bastard like that and she'd just been caught, too.

Here came the ambulance. Good. She hated even having to touch a piece of shit like this.

With any luck, he would die on the operating table.

X X X X X

"Wow? Already?" Willow Rosenberg said, responding to a sound from her computer. She and Tara were researching the First, at Daria's request, for a few hours.

"Already what?" Tara asked, leaning over her shoulder.

"They already arrested that guy Daria asked us to slow down. Tommy Sherman."

"Oh!" Tara said, looking over. Then she frowned. "Did, did you really need to make it child molestation? I mean –"

"He's working for the First Evil and trying to kill a Slayer," Willow said. "He's lucky I only made it child molestation. Still, I only added him to the files a couple of hours ago."

"Sometimes it's, it's better to be lucky than good," Tara said. "Now, I haven't found anything else out about the First. But what, what if we tried this . . .?"

X X X X X

"Doctor!" Angel said to Lynette Vaughn when she walked in the front door of the Hyperion. "Could you come here for a second?"

Lynette Vaughn smiled inwardly. Despite having been around for six times as long as Lynette had been alive, Angel was just short of an open book when it came to his emotions, when he wasn't playing a part, at any rate. This was something fairly important, or he wouldn't be nearly as anxious as he appeared.

"Yes?" she asked. "What do you need my help on?" She'd been "consulting" with Angel Investigations off and on since they'd first met back in April. She hadn't given up her day job of examining the allegedly – and actually -mentally ill of the Los Angeles prison system, but she enjoyed coming here a couple of times a week. She'd told her husband, Will, that it was a consulting job, and had the contract to prove it, even if it only paid expenses; she wasn't doing this for the money, she was doing this to help track down the people who'd tried to kill Daria in prison.

"Has Daria called you in the last couple of days?" She hadn't, and Lynette said as much. "She's called me. Here's what's going on." And then Lynette got a ten-minute summary on the being called The First Evil, what it had attempted to do to Angel, and what it was trying to do to Daria.

"An expert on psychological manipulation?" Lynette asked.

"Yes. And as the closest thing we have to an expert on Daria slash Faith's mental state – it's trying to make her mad. Why? It can't be trying to trigger anything, can it?"

Lynette shook her head. "No. Just to be sure they could never be used again, I went back in and removed all of the triggers I'd ever placed, up to and including "Faith Ellen Lehane" and "Jake, Helen, Quinn." On the off chance Daria and Faith ever separate again mentally, I'll probably read them, but even if someone roots through her psyche and finds that they exist, they won't be able to pull them."

"That's a relief. But – rage?"

After thinking for a second, Lynette said, "Faith came into being to deal with the rage Daria was feeling immediately after the brutal murder of her parents and sister. Daria could not handle it, but someone had to. And that's how Faith came into existence. Faith, who until you convinced her to turn herself in, had essentially never met an impulse she didn't express. Daria deals with, and dealt with, rage, not by bottling it up, but by 'turning it sideways' and being cynical and flippant. She couldn't do that. Not with this level of anger. And the last time Daria had to handle it, she nearly demolished a cell in the LA Women's Prison with her fists, which left her nearly incapable of any action except this barely controlled lashing out."

"Then that's what the First is trying to provoke," Angel said. "If Daria dies or if she gets so angry she can't deal with it, it's fine either way. It wanted either me or Buffy dead because either way it would have removed one of us and crippled the other. In Daria's case?"

"If either death or incapacity would do just as well," Lynette said, "Then the First is trying to stop Daria from doing something."

"And if he waited until she was on the other side of the country to stop here," Angel said. "That means it was something here. Well, here or in Sunnydale."

"Maybe he just doesn't want her to go to the San Diego Zoo," Lynette said.

Angel said wryly, "I don't think the First's plans have anything to do with koalas."

"Maybe someone's plotting great evil at the Wild Animal Park."

"I doubt that as well, Doctor. Could you call Daria next chance you get? I warned her, but it might help if you warned her too."

"I will," she said. She didn't want Daria to get hurt more than almost anything.

X X X X X

Joey, Jeffy, and Jamie, all back from their freshman year at college - to almost no one's surprise, they'd all chosen the same place - had just gotten done watching a replay on the Pigskin Channel when Joey flipped the channel and saw the news.

"Hey, man!" Jamie said. "They were going to do a Broncos game next!"

"No, wait!" Jamie said. "Look!"

The TV was showing a picture.

"Do you know who that is? That's the guy who led Lawndale to the state championship! That's Tommy Sherman! Turn it up!"

Tommy Sherman had come back to Lawndale High their freshman year to have a goalpost dedicated to him and narrowly missed having the crate with the goalpost inside fall on his head when he walked out onto the field.

"He did what?" Jeffy said a minute later. "I - I can't believe -"

"Shhh -" They watched the rest of the story.

"Well, shit, man. I can't believe that."

"Me either."

"That sucks!"

"It totally does!"

"Should Lawndale High have a goalpost named after someone who does something like that?"

"No! I'm gonna tear it down!"

"I'm gonna tear it down first!"

"I'll tear down _both_ goalposts!"

"I'll rip up the whole field!"

And within thirty seconds three cars were roaring away in the general direction of Lawndale High.

X X X X X

Rupert Giles looked up at the clock on his wall. Good Lord, he'd been studying almost the entire day on the First.

And, he reflected as he closed the book, was no closer to enlightenment. There were hundreds of records of encounters with the First, dating back well past the birth of Christ. He'd heard tell of tales dating back to ancient Egypt, and that was simply human records.

The First had won some of the encounters, and lost others. It had been able to create its followers - The Harbingers of the First, usually known simply as the Bringers - but otherwise had been limited to psychological tricks and mental tortures. Its powers seemed to have expanded recently; why, Giles didn't know.

The one thing he had noticed was that the First was not as wise, or intelligent, as its years would lead one to believe. There was an author named Trevanian, an American expatriate, who'd said it best: "Do not fall into the error of the artist who boasts of twenty years experience in his craft while in fact he has had only one year of experience twenty times."

In the First's case, it was "one year of experience five billion times," more or less, presuming that it was indeed what it claimed to be: the essence of all that is evil. Buffy and Angel combine were a million times less experienced, and they had defeated the First's goals.

This was not to say it was easy; only that it could be done.

He would pass this on to Daria at the earliest opportunity.

X X X X X

Virginia State Trooper Aaron Beaumont heard a scream coming from the holding cell. He walked back and Tommy Sherman was backed into a corner.

Only other guy in there was a drunk driver who'd actually fallen asleep, so Aaron knew he hadn't done anything to make Sherman scream. "Shut up in there!" he said.

"I thought you were going to kill me," Sherman said, though he wasn't looking at Aaron.

"I should," Aaron said. "Do everyone a favor, pervert like you."

"No! You promised!"

Bastard looked like he was talking to thin air. "You trying to make me think you're psycho, it ain't gonna work."

And still he didn't look like he was listening. "_No one _does that to Tommy Sherman!" Then he blinked and said, "You say something, officer?"

"Yeah. Keep it quiet. And stop like you're talking to yourself. No one's gonna buy you being out of your mind."

"Don't worry, officer," Sherman said. "I won't be talking to _that_ ever again.

X X X X X

The newly promoted President of Marketing leaned back in her hotel room bed for a second. She'd gotten the job by cleverly taking credit for the work of her subordinates, and sabotaging her rivals, and had then kicked most of them out as soon as she had the chance so they would not have the chance to do the same to her. It was cliché, true, but sometimes cliché worked. It certainly had for her.

The only one she'd kept around was Chip. And that was more for his looks and skill in the bedroom, which were outstanding, than his skill as a marketer, which was adequate, at best. Oh, he was good face to face – as she well knew – but he was about as imaginative as a sack of wet cement.

Of course, every once in a while Presidents of Marketing had to go to conferences, like this one in Roanoke, but at least she'd gotten to bring Chip with her – under the guise of 'needing assistance,' of course. Like she needed assistance. Everywhere she'd been, every promotion she'd gotten, every rung she'd climbed, she'd gotten on her own, with no help from her husband, or her alleged friends.

Friends, hah. There was no such thing as friendship. Only people you could use to get ahead, before they used you. It was the way of the world.

She'd tried to teach her daughter that. Heaven only knew if she'd succeeded. She hadn't really been challenged yet, at high school or college, and while the President of Marketing didn't believe you needed constant challenges to make life worthwhile – what was she, a Navy SEAL? – she did believe you needed rivals to toughen you up, make you think, show you the way the world really worked.

This was, supposedly, a chance for the heads of marketing from stations around the region to get together and compare notes. As though they would do that. No. Three days, a nice hotel, and just enough business done to keep their bosses satisfied.

"You seem proud of yourself," a familiar voice said.

Sitting up on the bed, she pinched herself. "I must have fallen asleep."

"Why do you say that, dear?"

"Because you're my mother, and my mother died twelve years ago. I ought to know; I pulled the plug on her myself." Her mother had let her father and everyone else walk all over her, never complaining about anything – and then, when her father had died, she hadn't been able to do anything. She had sworn she would never let that happen to her or her children, and so far, so good. "Therefore, I must be dreaming."

"You aren't dreaming, dear," Mom said. "And I'm not your mother. I'm just borrowing her appearance."

"If you're about to play Jacob Marley, I am very much not interested," she said.

"No. I simply have an offer for you."

"Really. And what could a mysterious ghost – yes, ghost, I saw the way you moved through the wall right there – have to offer me that I could not get for myself?"

"I can give you what you want more than anything else," Mom said. "I can give you power."

"I have power," the President of Marketing said.

"You have some power, dear. A nice job. But you're not getting any younger."

She snorted. "So few of us are. Even with Botox and lifts, you can tell."

"I can get you real power. All you have to do is help me with something. Not a favor; I give you something, you give me something back."

"I'm listening." Assuming she wasn't stoned, drunk, or asleep, she was talking to the Devil. And it was better to reign in Hell.

"I need you to kill a person for me."

Kill? Well, she'd stolen things, committed adultery, sworn, and worked on Saturdays and Sundays, so what was one more commandment, really? "And I get what?"

"Power."

"What kind of power?" she asked. "I'm not killing someone for a portable generator."

Her "mother" said, "Real power. Power over your fellow human beings."

"As in, authority? Good. I like being in a position of authority. You have a deal - what is your name again?"

"Call me The First, dear. And you know something? I think I've made the right choice this time."

Linda Griffin smiled. "You bet your ass you did."

X X X X X

Note: Tommy Sherman was never going to be the First's permanent servant, in this thing. He had the attitude right, and he was willing to get his hands dirty, but intellectually he was in way over his head.

Not quite so true of the new one . . .


	14. All Faith, All the Time

The First Evil was pleased, as pleased as it could be, anyway. It had stripped its former servant of its powers, but had refrained from killing the man; what he had been imprisoned for, a great crime by human standard, would be a much greater punishment than what the First had originally intended, and would last the rest of his life, however long that was. For Tommy Sherman right now, a quick death would have been a mercy, and The First Evil was scarcely merciful.

Linda Griffin, now - if only she had been at home when it had been searching for someone to kill Daria Morgendorffer. As it turned out, the woman resided in Lawndale, and was simply visiting her current locality.

There was nothing even the First could do about the past though, and Linda Griffin was very nearly perfect: Ambitious (but fully cognizant that she was not at the level of the First itself), intelligent, manipulative, amoral; true, she had an aversion to physical brutality. If she were to be responsible for the Slayer's death, it would not be directly at her hands, but at the hands of someone she had commanded, or tricked.

This made things simpler for the First, in a way; it hadn't needed to give Linda Griffin the kind of abilities it had granted Tommy Sherman. Yes, she now healed quickly, could locate Daria Morgendorffer by instinct, and no longer needed to sleep, and of course could communicate with and direct the Bringers, but it was not nearly as draining as imbuing its former servant had been.

Having learned approximately where the Slayer was, she had said, "So she's traveling across the country, correct? Trying to get to California? So why should we chase her when it would be much simpler to go where she is planning on going? She appears to be using Interstate 64 at the moment. How many Bringers can you get to Lexington, Kentucky by 9 AM tomorrow morning? I mean, why should we waster so much energy in pursuit when we can be ready and waiting to attack with a massive force, while she and her friends spend every waking moment looking over their shoulders, instead of looking ahead, where we will be waiting."

And so even now the First was ordering every Bringer within range to congregate where Linda Griffin had suggested. That should be nearly forty, and that was not counting the five who had been with Tommy Sherman and were now under Linda Griffin's direct supervision. "After all," she'd said, "They will not be looking over their shoulders if we do not, occasionally, give them something to be looking at."

She had other ideas as well, which the First was even now mulling over. It was considerably more confident that Daria Morgendorffer would never return to Sunnydale.

It retreated into the In-Dark to rejuvenate.

X X X X X

They stopped again on the outskirts of Charleston at around 7 that evening. Daria had left her cell phone to charge in Aunt Amy's car, and her aunt handed it to her, saying, "You're a popular girl."

"Don't insult me," Daria said.

Amy said, "No, really, you've gotten three calls in the last hour."

"Ooh," Jane said wickedly. "I hope at least one of them's a hot guy." To Daria's withering look, she said, "You have to grow up sometime, you know."

Daria snorted and at the phone. "That depends. Remember Mr. Giles?"

"Hmmm. Not bad, if you like scary British scholars. A bit old for you, though, don't you think?"

"I will kill you," Daria said. "I know many ways how."

"Point, Morgendorffer. How about instead saving him for our Ms. Barksdale, here? I think she could use a good man. Might help her loosen up a little."

Fairly vicious shot across Aunt Amy's bows; Aunt Amy might be guilty of many sins, but being "tight" wasn't one of them. Obviously Jane and her aunt weren't getting along. "Jane-" she said reproachfully.

"What?" Jane asked, equal parts innocence and disgruntlement..

"Just keep it down to a dull roar. I don't want to be plucking body parts out of the seat cushions. I can't believe I'm the one saying this, but we need to be able to work together."

"Hey, I'm fine with working," Amy said, and seemed to mean it."I can be civil, when I have to," Jane said.

"Good. You have to," Daria said.

"Mr. Giles," her aunt said. "That's Buffy's . . . Watcher, right?"

"Correct," Daria confirmed. "I asked him to look up something on the First for me. I'm not completely sure why Willow or Dr. Vaughn is calling, but I'll find out."

"And that's our cue to go into the restaurant," Jane said. "Come, Barksdale. You can buy me a Fribble while we're waiting."

"What makes you think I'm going to buy you anything?" Amy asked as they walked towards the Friendly's entrance.

Jane quirked a smile. "Easy. I still have the car keys."

"Good," Amy said, grinning. "Then you can drive the next shift too."

Scowling, Jane said, "Curse you and your logical ways."

There was still a definite undercurrent of tension there. As long as they kept it under, everything would be fine.

Long as it didn't spill over. That was the important thing.

As Amy disappeared into the restaurant, Daria could almost literally feel Faith stretching her muscles. She figured now was the time for that experiment she'd been wanting to try. She made her first call.

"Hello?"

"Yo! G! What's up?'

"Daria?"

"The one and only. Trying to see if I can sound a little more like Faith than Daria if I try."

"Well, apart from the accent, I'd say you're doing an excellent job so far." Faith's Southie accent only seemed to come out when Daria was swearing, for some reason

"Good to know," Daria said. "So. What'd you call for?"

"At your behest, I have been researching the history of the First Evil." Giles hadn't explained that he hadn't been able to find a guaranteed way or killing or stopping it - not like she'd been expecting one - but that it was entirely possible to outthink it, 'cause a lot of people had done just that. Though a lot hadn't."

"Again, good to know. Are you going to keep looking?"

"I will," Giles said.

"Appreciate it," Daria said. "Anyway, I have Red and Tara looking up whether there's a way to block the First; I'm calling them next. Thanks for the help."

"That is what I am here for," Giles said.

She hung up and dialed. So far, she was doing a competent job of getting back into Faith's mindset, but it was more of a strain being "all Faith, all the time," than it was being Daria Lynn all the time, probably because she'd been Daria a shitload longer than she'd been Faith.

Idly, she wondered if she could be Buffy to any degree; if there was enough of the echo mixed in for her to pull it off. She doubted it. Her Buffy influence was pretty fucking faint. Might be worth trying, but now wasn't the time.

Willow picked up on the third ring. "Red," Daria said. "Saw you called. What'd you want?"

"Um - Daria?"

"The one, the only. Well, kind of. You understand."

"Your voice-"

"Sounds a lot like Faith, right?"

"Mostly minus the accent, yes," Willow said. "Oh - you didn't have a spontaneous personality resplitting, did you?"

"No. I'm just seeing where the boundaries are, how much of me is Faith and how much Daria. That's all."

"But, now?"

"It's what I was going to do anyway. Not necessarily like this, but if I let the First completely dictate when and where I do things, I might as well give up. That doesn't mean it's something I'm going to be trying in the middle of a fight. I ain't stupid."

"I never thought you were. Either of you. Or you, you know, now. Anyway, I called with some news."

"You figured out how to block the First?" Daria asked, hopefully.

"Nope. Might not be possible. But we're going to keep looking, because you never know. I was actually calling to tell you about the downfall of Tommy Sherman."

Willow explained, and when she was done, Daria said grimly, "In for the rest of his life?"

"Yup. Even if they figure out the molestation charges are bogus. They've also charged him with car thefts and murder. Question, though. Some of what's been going on mentions the Bringers. Do we want the police to be looking for them?"

And there it was - the instinctive reluctance of anyone who knew anything about the supernatural to mix the two worlds when it wasn't absolutely necessary. Daria'd run into it when she came up with the idea of calling the cops on the Knights of Byzantium. "I don't see why not," she said. "Three local football players took down one of them when they jumped me and Jane at the Pizza King. They're tough, but they aren't going to be able to beat bullets."

"Yeah, but there's their aura of death," Willow said. "We don't want them making everyone else in the jail sick."

"They don't have a predilection for being caught alive," Daria said. "I say we gain more than we lose if the cops take out a few. Thanks for the update. Maybe now, I can get a few hours sleep without worrying that I'll wake up and find the hotel room surrounded by two dozen Bringers."

"Happy to do it. Goodbye."

As she hung up, Daria closed her eyes and breathed a small sigh of relief. Only a small one, of course. Stopping Tommy Sherman was useful, but it was by no means the same thing as stopping the First.

She saw that she'd kept Jane and Amy waiting ten minutes. Doc Vaughn would have to wait.

"All Faith, all the time" had been a helpful experiment, but it was done. Interesting, though. It was definitely easier for her to be Daria Lynn than it was to be Faith, but it wasn't impossible to be either.

Of course, she didn't really want to be one or the other, at this point. She wasn't. But it was good to see where the boundaries lay.

"She was both. And neither."

She smiled slightly, and went into the restaurant.

X X X X X

Linda Griffin drove down Interstate 64 in her rented SUV, pulling a trailer behind her. The President of Marketing was taking a week's vacation, which should be more than enough time to kill Daria Morgendorffer.

The Bringers were in the trailer. She would command them, and lead them, and use them, but she would positively not ride with them. They couldn't carry on conversations; they didn't talk at all. And they didn't bathe, either.

She had suggested to the First that perhaps the Bringers could disguise themselves, not wear the robes all the time, only when they were on official First business. And as for the eyes, they could wear sunglasses and disguise themselves as disfigured blind people.

The First had said it would get back to her, but it seemed to be taking it seriously. Good. It seemed obvious to her, but maybe there was some magical reason, or something.

In any event, she was more than ready for this challenge. Perhaps she had never killed someone directly, but one of the people she'd removed from her path had, in her anguish, committed suicide, so Linda had effectively killed them; and Linda hadn't felt guilty at all. Obviously the young woman had not been ready for the pressure of the job.

Oh well.

She had taken care of some necessary business before leaving the hotel in Roanoke: Calling her husband and making certain he would be taking care of the children – not that Sandi needed it, she was coming along nicely, but her two boys were still more concerned with pranks than with getting ahead, even though they certainly had long since shown they cared about no one but themselves If Linda was going to eventually have control of the entire human race – as the First had promised, and Linda believed it could deliver – she would eventually need successors.

She had also used the hotel's free internet service to get as much information as she could on Daria Morgendorffer. Not that she was a hacker or anything, but she was perfectly capable of using search engines, including some not available to the general public.

What she had found was interesting, and possibly helpful. She had several relatives that could possibly be manipulated, including two aunts, a cousin, a grandmother, and an uncle. One of the aunts was with her, and apparently knew about The First, but the others were wide open.

She had their phone numbers and addresses written down, in case she needed to contact them and ask them questions, or possibly send the Bringers to take them hostage, though if this Slayer had the high ethical standards that the First said she did, Linda doubted that that would work. Still, an option it was good to have.

You could learn about people by reading about them, and all people were mostly the same, but if you wanted to know what made someone tick, you needed to meet them. It might be possible to kill Daria Morgendorffer without knowing her; that is why she was setting up the ambush tomorrow, at Lexington. But she was an intelligent young woman, and skilled in combat. If the assault tomorrow failed, and it could—and she had warned the First of this – then there needed to be a solid plan B.

She was traveling with two companions. Perhaps, if attacks were to be directed at them, she would be distracted.

There was indeed much to consider.

In the meantime, Daria Morgendorffer appeared to have stopped for the night in Huntington, West Virginia. Linda and the Bringers she had with her would be there in about two and a half hours.

And then, they would meet.


	15. Rampaged Against a Knife

Author's Note: This chapter title also actually has five words. Thanks to, as Mr. Tony would put it, Mr. Robert Zimmerman of Hibbing, Minnesota for the title.

X X X X X

Jane Lane had taken Daria's not particularly veiled warning as a clear hint that she needed to be more pleasant to Amy Barksdale. While she would never be friends with the woman – she could tell that now – they had certain things in common.

While she showed it in an offensive way, she cared about Daria. So did Jane, though it would take the rack and thumbscrews to get her to admit it out loud. They had a similar cynical view on life, and an instinctive distrust of most things mainstream, except for junk food.

No junk food? Definitely a deal breaker.

And so she'd been cordial to the woman while they moved from the outskirts of Charleston to a Holiday Inn in Huntington. They had discussed art, and television; the woman had a good layperson's knowledge of art and didn't pretend otherwise, which was a plus, and they shared several TV shows.

They avoided discussing Daria for most of the trip, with the exception of five minutes somewhere in the middle.

"About Daria –" Amy said.

"That's when the yelling starts," Jane said. "Daria asked us not to yell."

"I haven't yelled yet," Amy said.

"Neither have I. If something you do actually gets me to raise my voice, run." Jane didn't get angry enough to scream all that often. When she did, something was very wrong. Dogs and small children fled. They were the smart ones.

"I'll keep that in mind, Dr. Banner. I was going to say one thing. Daria was right. We're essentially in the middle of a buddy movie here. Can we perhaps get past the clichéd bickering and skip to the point where we get along well enough to help Daria without having whatever problems we're having be an issue?"

Jane bit off a smartass response; rare for her, but the woman was trying to be serious, and in the spirit of "helping Daria" she would do likewise. "I believe we have a deal. As long as the flick in question isn't _Thelma and Louise_."

Smiling slightly, Amy said, "I was thinking more _Blues Brothers_, actually."

"Naaah. I left my sunglasses at home. And I have a terrible singing voice."

"That didn't stop Dan Aykroyd."

"True."

X X X X X

They were sharing one hotel room; rock, paper, scissors between Aunt Amy and Jane determined who got the second bed and who got to sleep on the floor; they told Daria if she tried volunteering, they'd wait until she was asleep and pick her up.

"I thrash and bite," Daria said.

"Go right ahead," Aunt Amy said.

"I thrash with superhuman strength," Daria said.

"Point," Jane said. "Note to self: Procure body armor."

"Look, Daria, you need the sleep more than we do. Shower and go to bed. If any slavering lunatics wander by, we'll get you. Promise."

"And any non-slavering lunatics?"

"We're saving them for poker night."

Occasionally, Jane wandered off into the surreal. One of the things Daria liked about her. "And on that note, I will go shower. Scream if you need me." The last part was said seriously. Tommy Sherman might be out of the way, but the goddamn bastard First Evil was still out there, and his Bringers, waiting to jump them at a moment's notice.

Daria was even restraining the urge to patrol tonight. There were vampires out there, she could feel it, but she wasn't going to leave here and leave Jane and Amy to fend for themselves. They weren't helpless, but they couldn't kick the asses of a dozen Bringers at a time, like she could.

Fifteen minutes later she stepped out of the shower, feeling a lot cleaner. It was good to have the leather pants off, also; she only had a change and a half of clothes with her, though. A pair of shorts, a spare dull orange t-shirt, and a couple of pairs of underwear and socks, plus what she'd been riding in for the last couple of days.

Unfortunately, there was something else besides the clothes there waiting for her. "Hey, kiddo!" the voice said.

And there the First Evil stood, this time in the guise of her father. "Hello, First Evil," she said.

"Hey now! Is that any way to say hi to your old Dad? You know, you were lucky to have a Dad like me. I cared about you. Not like my dad. Not ol' Mad Dog Morgendorffer! I fell out of a tree in the backyard one day and all he did was tell me to climb back up! Never mind that I'd twisted my ankle! That wasn't important -"

"What do you want, First Evil?" Daria said.

Want? I'll tell you what I want, kiddo! You know, you were always so serious as a little girl. But you never cried, not even once. I think I'd like to do something about that!"

"I thought you wanted me dead," Daria said.

"That too!" it said. "Hey! Did you know you're naked?"

"I was aware of that," Daria said, putting her clothes on. "And if you're about to try to creep me out by making inappropriate comments, be aware that that would screw any chance you have of making me think you're my father for even a second."

"Thanks for the advice. You know, that's just like you, always looking out for your old man even when he didn't do the same for you. You must have gotten tired of that! No wonder you let me die, huh?"

"Check your history," Daria said, doing her best to restrain her irritation. "I never had a chance to save my father."

"Sure you did! You were supposed to get home earlier. If you had, maybe you and I could've played rock, paper, scissors instead and maybe I'd still be alive."

"Jake Morgendorffer wouldn't have wanted that," Daria said. "My father got angry easy, was clueless about half of the time, and had an inordinate hatred for squirrels. But he wouldn't have wanted me dead."

The First grinned. "No, but I sure wanted you out of the way! Remember when you heard your mom and me fighting and you went and hid in that big refrigerator box? I sure didn't like having you around then!"

"He got over it," Daria said. The time around the refrigerator box incident had always been a particularly unpleasant one. Her parents had fought about her, and Dad had stormed out. She wondered if maybe that's where Faith's need for a father figure had come from, an unconscious resentment of her father for doing that.

"Yeah, but you haven't! I don't think you've been happy a day in your life. Makes you wonder what I did wrong. Or what your mom did wrong. Must have been something big if it made you turn out the way you did, eh, kiddo?" Its fatherly grin was somewhat malevolent.

"Are you done trying to psychologically undermine me?"

"Heck no! I'm just getting started!"

"I can fall asleep with the TV on, I can fall asleep in class, so I can sure as shit fall asleep with you giving me a hard time. So if you want to follow me out there, be my guest. I can shut you out out there just as well as I can in here."

And she opened the door and walked into the main hotel room.

Jane and Amy were looking up at her. "It show up again?" Jane asked.

"Yup. This time, as my father." She moved a little more into the room. "Hold on one second." She turned around. The First was not behind her, looking like her father or anyone else. Bathroom. Nope. Ain't there either. Good. And he wasn't anywhere else in the room, either."

"You think we need to take off, amiga?" Jane murmured, a bit worriedly.

"No. The First can follow us pretty much anywhere, so we can't run away from it. On the moon, at the bottom of Challenger Deep, it could still – find me."

The First aka Jake Morgendorffer had flickered into existence behind Daria and Amy for a few seconds, and had just given the 'okay' sign with its right hand before winking out again.

"Are you okay?" Aunt Amy asked.

"No. Of course not. Even if I know that that – thing isn't my father, or my sister, or Mayor Dick, it's still emotionally jarring to see them, and hear them. I'm reasonably sure it actually knows this, of course. It's trying to throw me off of my game. But," she said determinedly, "It isn't going to work."

A moment or two of silence, and then Daria said, "I think I'm going to bed now. Wake me up if anything, and I mean anything, suspicious happens. Those Bringers are still out there. I doubt we'll wake up with an army of them camped at our door – the First is no stupider than I am – but one or two lurking by the ice machine wouldn't surprise me in the least. Go ahead and keep the TV on if you want. It won't bother me."

And, to the sounds of, "A checkpoint for extraterrestrials? Legal aliens, a Sick, Sad World exclusive, coming up next!" Daria went to sleep.

X X X X X

Linda Griffin pulled into the Holiday Inn parking lot at about 11 PM. She went to the office and got herself a room "on the first floor, please." Carefully, out of sight of anyone on the upper floor – and Daria Morgendorffer was up there, though Linda couldn't tell exactly which room – she opened the rental trailer and released the five Bringers. "You four," she said. "Go do whatever it is you do when left to yourselves. Do not draw anyone's attention or leave a trail of evidence. Am I understood?"

They told her that she was. "Good. Tomorrow, we buy you clothes." At the rest stop she'd stopped at an hour ago, the First, still looking like her mother, had informed her that, as long as they were not performing any official duties, they could disguise themselves. This was good. It would not fool Daria Morgendorffer, of course, but it should temper the concerns of anyone who happened to be watching.

The Bringers were not unintelligent; they were just incredibly focused, focused on serving the First, and did not think about things such as how they came across. Not that they were attempting to recruit anyone; they were there to kill, and spread terror, and that was, more or less, it. That was why the First had brought her on board; she could think of such things.

But them not being stupid meant they would understand when she told them to "act blind." It could give Linda an edge. Every little bit would help.

The four she'd addressed shambled off. To the one who remained, she said, "Hide. At some point tomorrow, I will tell you to attack. When I do, attack immediately. Injure, if you must, but do not kill unless I tell you to. Am I understood?"

She was.

"Good. Then you go do what you must, and I will do what I must."

Linda carried her suitcase into the hotel room and lay on the bed, though, as she had no need to sleep, she would spend much of the night thinking about how best to handle Ms. Morgendorffer. Not the entire night, of course. She needed to relax her mind at some point. Perhaps some television would do.

And of course, there was her job as President of Marketing. She hadn't climbed over all of those people to simply throw it away, even if she had been handed a greater opportunity. She would review some campaigns, tonight.

She found a local takeout menu and ordered a bean curd delight from a local all-night Chinese restaurant. Probably the healthiest thing she could find, at this tome of the evening. Then she began to mull.

With only five Bringers at her disposal, Linda Griffin seriously doubted that they would be able to take care of Daria Morgendorffer. Were that enough, she would likely be deceased already. It was, perhaps, something to hope for, but not nearly to count on.

She had to have a backup plan.

Linda had heard of Daria Morgendorffer; the girl had been all over the news back in April and May. She wasn't a celebrity in the sense that a movie star or popular singer was, but she was fairly famous.

Perhaps Linda could use that to her advantage. Make it impossible for the girl to hide, or get a moment's peace; a frazzled opponent was one it was much easier to take advantage of.

Let her have her night's sleep. It was the last one she would get, in possibly forever.

X X X X X

Daria woke up at about 3 AM. The first thing she did was peer out the hotel room window.

There was no army of Bringers in the parking lot. Good. Like she'd said, she really hadn't been expecting one.

There might be a lone Bringer, lingering out there. She felt – something. Her instincts weren't as strong as Faith's; she could pick out vamps and demons, but Bringers didn't set them off nearly as much. Could also just be someone with a distant demonic heritage, or a little magic, or something. She wasn't a huge believer in coincidences, but that didn't mean they didn't happen. Witness the incident with the Bringer at the Exxon station from yesterday.

She should check it out. Wouldn't be leaving Amy or Jane in danger, except from something that could walk or pound its way through the walls.

There was no such thing as perfect safety. Imperfect safety would have to do.

She grabbed the room key, tiptoed over Aunt Amy, grabbed her boots, and stepped outside onto the hotel walkway.

Good news is that there weren't any vampires nearby, so her choice not to patrol had been a valid one.

Bad news is that Daria still felt the same thing, slightly stronger. She walked down the walkway towards the staircase and jogged down. She closed her eyes for a second and tried to use her sense as though it were a compass.

Whatever it was was over by the dumpster. Could've been something just out for a snack; the homeless weren't the only ones who tended to scoop some of their meals out of the garbage. Still worth checking out.

She walked across the lot, meandering towards the dumpster; just a bored insomniac out for a late-night stroll to clear her head, if anyone saw. A little strange, maybe, but nothing ridiculously out of the ordinary, and it ain't like she'd ever cared overmuch about looking "a little strange," anyway.

Listening carefully, she could hear something moving, and it didn't sound like a squirrel, opossum, or raccoon. Or a homeless person, for that matter. She got closer, edging around one side -

It had seen her.

It was a Bringer. She ran around the dumpster, only to have the thing tear off across the parking lot and then the lower-level walkway. Cussing quietly to herself, she ran after it.

And then, possible disaster. A woman, maybe awakened by what was going on, stepped out of her doorway, looking around in confusion, right as the Bringer was almost on top of her.

Shit! The Bringer got out its knife and had the woman in its grasp before Daria could reach her. Instead of killing her, though, it pulled the woman along with it along the edge of the walkway. The woman didn't scream.

"Kill her and you're dead," Daria said evenly.

The Bringer, if it understood, gave no sign. Instead, it kept dragging its captive backwards until it was at the edge of the parking lot. Then, as Daria had expected, it shoved the woman towards her, and threw the knife immediately afterwards.

Daria had no choice but to fall backwards, pulling the woman on top of her, as the knife zipped overhead. By the time Daria managed to stand up - the woman, apparently terrified, was no help - the Bringer was out of sight.

The knife itself had clattered off of a parked car, but no one inside seemed to have noticed anything. Thank whatever deities might exist for small favors. Daria helped the woman to her feet and went over to pick up the knife. Not that she needed it, but she didn't want it puncturing someone's tires unintentionally.

"Thanks," the woman said. "What was that?"

"Drunken reprobate?" Daria said. "I know just more than you do. I had insomnia and decided to walk around the parking lot, and I spook the man in the robes. Next thing I know, we're reenacting a scene from _Speed_."

"I'm glad you didn't have to shoot me in the leg."

"Me too," Daria said.

"Anyway. Thank you. Could you walk me back to my room? All of a sudden it doesn't feel that safe around here."

Of course. "Certainly, Ms-?"

"Linda Griffin."

X X X X X

Quick favor: I don't ask this often, but the last chapter got two reviews, combined, at the two sites I posted it to. Could I ask the less-frequent reviewers to let me know what they think of the story, this time? Thank you -


	16. An Arm and a Leg

Author's Note: Thanks, thanks to everyone for the reviews, even those that weren't 100 percent praise of me and my wonderfulness. I know that the story is being read and evaluated and appreciated, and that's enough for now.

X X X X X

Linda Griffin smiled inwardly even while she was limping outwardly; when the Bringer shoved her away, it seems as though she'd twisted her ankle slightly.

Still, her plan had worked. She hadn't quite been expecting to meet the Slayer this quickly, but the mark of a great plan was adaptability. Daria Morgendorffer had left her hotel room early and apparently had somehow noticed that the one Bringer was out there. The other four were within easy calling distance, but that wasn't the point of this exercise.

The point here was for her to meet the young woman face to face, for as long as possible. That was why she had asked to be walked back to her room. Under normal circumstances, Linda's pride would not have allowed her to ask for assistance unless she literally could not move without it, but these circumstances were hardly normal.

"I think I've seen you somewhere before," she said.

"I have that kind of face," Daria said.

"No. That's not it. I know! You're that girl who got out of prison because of multiple personality disorder. It was all over the news back in April. Dara something, right?"

Linda couldn't help but smile at the slight edge of frustration in the girl's voice. "Daria. Daria Morgendorffer,"

"I knew it!" she said. "So I've been rescued by a killer. This will make a fascinating story to tell my friends and family." A probe.

"Just be sure you pronounce my name right," Daria said. Interesting. Most people under these circumstances, these days, would relish their celebrity. Some would be trying to get a TV deal, or even a movie deal. This girl clearly did not.

That was something she could use. Linda wondered how the girl would react to being followed around, constantly, by people trying to take her picture, and reporting back to Linda on where and when the picture was taken. Yes, Linda knew where the girl was, but with photos she would know what she was doing. Oh, it would be too perfect.

Linda realized she was planning for tomorrow's ambush to fail. Well, it was all about adaptability. If it worked, so much the better. If it failed, Linda would have a backup plan, and the First would know about the backup plan, and what had happened to his previous underling – Linda refused to call herself a servant – would not happen to her.

"Morgendorffer," Linda said, pronouncing it slowly. "And – Daria. Right?"

"Correct," Daria said.

"What are you doing out here in the middle of nearly nowhere? I mean, it's part of my job, but I would think you would be hiding in a cabin in the middle of the woods somewhere. You know, until everything dies down."

"I've considered it," Daria said. "Believe me. But in a way, that's what I'm doing. Just traveling across the country. A road trip, much like that in Easy Rider. Only without the drugs."

It would be easier if there were, but the job would not be fun were everything so simple. Oh well. "This is my room," Linda said. "Thank you for your assistance." She opened the door.

"You going to be okay from here?" Daria asked.

"I should be. Thank you," she said. "You've been a big help."

"That's what I'm here for," Daria said. "Good night."

Linda shut the door and limped over to her bed, reaching for her laptop computer. Thank goodness this Holiday Inn had free internet service.

She got online, found the appropriate websites, and told everyone about her encounter with the notorious killer who got away with it, Daria Morgendorffer, and said that if anyone wanted photographs of her, that she was traveling across the country on Interstate 64.

Linda would pay for the best ones, of course.

No point in drawing them to this Holiday Inn. That would make the girl suspicious.

But tomorrow was a different story.

X X X X X

Amy Barksdale woke up at 3:23 AM and noticed that Daria wasn't in her bed. She went to the window to look out, and seeing nothing, was just about to step outside to look around when Daria opened the door. Seeing Amy standing there, clearly worried, she stepped back out onto the walkway and gestured for Amy to follow her.

Once they were both outside, Daria quietly explained what had happened. "Lucky you were there," Amy said. "For Ms Griffin and the Holiday Inn. Imagine how many customers they'd get tomorrow with the parking lot cordoned off."

"Imagine how far we'd get," Daria said. "We'd be stuck here all day while armies of Bringers could camp out just beyond the view of the police. The cops go and we're facing off against an army."

"So your decision to save her was practical," Amy said, smiling faintly.

"What else could it be?" Daria asked, matching the smile. Then, seriously, she said, "I'm sorry I worried you. But when I felt the Bringer out there, I had to find out what it was doing."

"I understand," Amy said. "I've never been one for locking young people to keep them safe. But I think I'm allowed to be worried, under the circumstances."

"Well, thanks," Daria mumbled. "I've never doubted that."

"Doubted what?" Amy said, a little puzzled.

"That you worried about me." A faint smile. "Your methods of displaying that concern might have been questionable, but your concern – and Aunt Rita's, for that matter – never was." After a second, "I read your book."

"_Dhalgren_?"

"No. I'm still reading that one. Veers from stream of consciousness to plain narrative, but even the plain parts are deceptive. No. I mean your book, Aunt Amy. The one you wrote. They had a copy in the prison library. Every part except the one dealing directly with my family's deaths. I can't read that one."

"Can't?"

"Can't. It doesn't bring back memories – nothing ever will. I know flashes of April 10, 1997, and that's it. But it does trigger emotions. Rage. A rage I have a lot of difficulty controlling. A rage Faith could control." Rage? Daria was one of the least likely people to ever go on an emotional rampage. It was hard to believe, but Amy didn't doubt her niece for a second.

Daria continued, "In any event, that isn't what I meant to discuss. You showed that you suffered more pain, more loss, in three words of that book, than I would've believed. That is why I didn't cut you off as soon as we got out. You were concerned. You were devastated."

"I was," Amy said very quietly. "Rita, too. Even Erin."

"And that bought you slack. You believed me when I explained what a Slayer was. It took evidence, but you believed. That bought you more."

"I would hope," Amy said, "That we've reached the point where it's more than 'slack' keeping us together."

"That, and the unstoppable army of cultists led by their indestructible incorporeal master," Daria said.

"You know what I mean."

"I do," Daria said. "And I need to say what I say next very clearly. I will never forgive you and Rita for erasing Faith. Never. I know your motives, I know your feelings, I know your reasons, and they all should have paled in comparison to what I wanted. However," she said. "I think I can trust you not to make that mistake again. Whether you believe it was a mistake or not."

Reacting defensively and attempting to justify her actions, again, no matter how justified she thought they were, would have been exactly the wrong tack to take. Amy doubted she would ever be in a position to make that decision again.

Since that wasn't an issue, Daria was right: Amy would never do something against Daria's wishes for her own good again. "No. I won't. That doesn't mean I won't argue with you if I think you're wrong."

"Good. I want that."

"Good." After a second. "Should we hug?"

"Do you want to lose an arm?"

"I wouldn't be the first writer to suffer for their art." Amy smiled.

They went inside and went back to sleep.

X X X X X

The alarm woke Jane at the ungodly hour of 7:00 AM. She was no near-narcoleptic like Trent, but she was fairly sure she should only be awake at this hour if the building was on fire.

Daria and Amy sitting there watching her as though she were on display didn't help all that much, either. "Take a picture," she muttered. "It'll last longer than you will once I kill you."

"Did you understand that?" Amy said.

"All I heard was 'grr, grr, glumof, mumble, you," Daria said. "I think that means she's buying breakfast."

The way Daria ate? Not damn likely.

She showered quickly and they were out and at a nearby McDonald's by 7:45. "So, what's the plan for today?" Jane said with mock enthusiasm, a lot more coherent with coffee and some food in her. "See the sights? Paint the town red?"

"With the blood of the righteous," Daria said, deadpan. "No. The same thing we did yesterday."

"Try to take over the world?" Jane asked.

"Remind me to hurt you, Pinky," Daria said. "No. Head west as fast as we can drive."

"We should be in Lexington, Kentucky by 10:30. We'll switch off there," Amy said. "Sound good?

"Sound good," Jane said. "You really don't want me driving something before I'm fully awake."

"Aunt Amy, be prepared to drive solo for the rest of the trip," Daria said.

"Ha ha," Jane said. "I know where you sleep, Morgendorffer." After a second, "Did I hear the two of you come back in around 3:30 last night?"

"You did," Daria said, and explained what had happened. "We tried to be quiet. Sorry we woke you."

"I drift in and out all the time. No worries there. But – did you say you saved a woman named Linda Griffin?"

"I did," Daria said. "Why?"

"Aaaah, probably a coincidence."

Daria seemed a bit concerned now. "I'll judge that. Where have you heard the name before?"

"It belongs to one of my fellow Lawndalians," Jane said. "Mother of a particularly annoying student, and she was almost as bad. I don't suppose you happened to catch any details about her?"

"Only that she was in town for 'a conference," Daria said. "Do you want a description?"

"Well, I could try to read your mind, but my telepathic powers are on the fritz this week, darn the luck," Jane said. "So sock it to me, sister."

Daria might not have been a visual artist, but her descriptions left nothing to be desired. If this Linda Griffin had a mole on the back of her neck that Daria hadn't mentioned, it was only because the woman had hidden it.

And the coincidence had been confirmed: The Linda Griffin Daria had rescued was the Linda Griffin from Lawndale, or Jane would eat her hat.

"Don't say that unless you mean it," Amy said.

"I will, I will! Of course, I left my hat at home," Jane said. "Anyway, is this all seeming a little too coincidental for you?"

"No. It's seeming _way _too coincidental for me."

"Me too," Amy said. "Tell us what you know."

"She's ambitious, ruthless, and the parenting equivalent of a coach yelling 'get tough' at a kid who just had broke their ankle. Willing to step on anyone to get what she wants."

"That's it?" Daria asked.

"Hey, you're lucky I know that much. I was pretty much the anti-gossip queen of Lawndale High. If something happened, I didn't know about it." What Jane had picked up, she had picked up mostly through observation, and occasional discussions with Mack MacKenzie and Jodie Landon.

"It's enough for now," Amy said.

"Yes, it is," Daria said. "We need to find out about this woman. If she's the type who would take up employment with a psychopathic force of supernature."

"Now _there_'s an ad you won't be seeing in the classifieds," Jane said.

Amy smiled. "Imagine the interview process."

X X X X X

They pulled into the parking lot of a Super America on the outskirts of Lexington, Kentucky at about 11:15 AM. Somehow, the three of them had all missed that today was a Monday, and Mondays meant work, and a fun little thing called "rush hour."

Made it even a better place to change over. Daria knew it'd be better if she could drive a car but wishing didn't make it so, and, given the vengeance demons, was fucking dumb in any case.

Faith had picked up how to ride a motorcycle in the year between her creation and her activation - illegally, everyone thought at the time, though she was over 16 anyway. Something about being a Slayer made learning how to drive a car tough. No clue why, and, per Giles, not enough data to form a reasonable conclusion."

Didn't matter, in the long run. What it meant was that Jane and Amy had to trade off driving Amy's car, which meant they had to stop for the night, which slowed them down.

If only they could trust trains or planes. And while she was wishing internally, she'd take a herd of wild ponies running free across the plains.

Maybe she'd get lucky, and they'd trample the Bringers along the way.

Amy and Jane were discussing something. Seemed to be where to go from here. Now, Daria, she thought "west" was the right idea, but maybe her thinking was wrong.

And it turned out it was. "We can't take 64 all the way to St. Louis," Amy said. "They haven't finished it yet. I say we catch I-75 and go up to 70 and take that as far as we can."

"And I say we ride I-64 until we crash into the barriers at the end," Jane said.

"Why?"

"I have to have a reason?" Jane said.

Daria said, "I think I'll follow Aunt Amy's advice."

"Spoilsport."

"I'm not looking to reenact _Speed_ just to amuse you."

"One other thing," Amy said. "I've called a couple of people to see what they can find about Linda Griffin. They haven't gotten back to me yet, but they should soon."

"Good. I'll try Willow, as well. Between us, we should know whether Linda Griffin is now devoted to the service of ultimate evil."

Amy and Jane went inside, while Daria got out her phone. She didn't call Willow, though, but Lynette Vaughn. After five rings, the call went to voicemail. "Hey! Doc!" She said. "Daria here. Got your call last night; Angel said he might be talking to you. Hope you got some good news. I could use some, at this point. Catch you later!"

Then Daria went inside. When she came out, there were two things she noticed.

One was the Bringer, running away from her aunt's car. Her aunt's car, which now had slashed tires.

Two was another Bringer, bending over her motorcycle.

"Well, shit," seemed appropriate. Inadequate, but appropriate.

X X X X X

For the record, for those who want more action, the title of the next chapter is "The Battle of Lexington, Part I."


	17. The Battle of Lexington, Part I

The First had been able to get thirty-eight Bringers to the vicinity of Lexington, Kentucky, by 7:30 AM, by which point, Linda noted, Daria Morgendorffer and her people had just left the Holiday Inn. She promptly ordered them to go, in groups of two, to gas stations and convenience stores lining the approach to Lexington, within a few blocks of Interstate 64. More stores than there were Bringers, of course, but this allowed for a thorough coverage of the vicinity. If the Morgendorffer troupe made it through, it would not be for lack of preparation.

The preparation had paid off, though the Bringers in question had been observing a gas station a couple of blocks away. They had still had ample time to make it to the one Daria Morgendorffer had stopped at and cut the tires of those people she was riding with.

That meant they would either have to rent a car or get four new tires. Either way, that would give those Bringers plenty of time to catch them.

And the beauty of the plan was that it could be reused. If Daria Morgendorffer somehow escaped, they would simply slash the tires at the next stop.

And she hadn't even had to use her redundancy plans yet.

Ah well. Better to have and not need, than need and not have.

X X X X X

Cussing internally as though she were still all Faith, all the time, Daria raced towards the Bringer holding a knife on her bike, slamming into the bastard just before the knife connected. The Bringer staggered backwards but kept its feet, and then turned and ran.

Instincts told Daria to chase after it, but instinct was wrong, here. Catching the Bringer and beating it to a bloody pulp would feel damned good, but it would get more attention than she'd already gotten.

A guy by the pumps had come up and said to Daria, "What was that?"

"I'm not sure. Did they slash anyone else's tires?"

"I don't think so."

"That's good. At least only our lives suck now."

The man wrote down his name and address on a business card. "Need a witness or something for the insurance, give me a call, okay?" He handed it to Daria, who thanked him as he walked away. There were still people in the world who'd do the right thing without being forced to. Hard to remember sometimes, when most people, every damn day, constantly reminded you otherwise.

Aunt Amy and Jane came out once the man had driven off. "What happened?" Aunt Amy asked. When Daria explained, Jane cussed the blue streak Daria couldn't express, not with her aunt standing right there.

"And so that leaves us two choices," Daria said, "And they're both going to cost us some time. We can either rent a car, or have your car repaired. Either way, we're stuck in the Lexington area for a couple of hours at least. And that will give the Bringers plenty of time to catch up to us _en masse_." She looked at Aunt Amy. "Your car, your call."

"Hold on a second," she said, and went inside.

"You okay, amiga?" Jane asked quietly as Amy went inside. "If you're worried about me - well, worry, but don't blame yourself for me being here."

"I don't," Daria said. "I'd feel guilty only if I did something any reasonable person could have avoided. Not there are that damn many of them in the world. If something happened to you I'd be upset and angry. Not guilty."

"Good. Because even with all of this happening things are a damn sight more interesting than they would have been if you hadn't come back to Lawndale."

"Good to know," Daria said.

Aunt Amy came back out of the store. "There's an auto repair place about a mile and a half straight down that way on the right," she said. "I called and they'll get us in right away."

"For a small convenience fee," Daria said.

"Nothing small about it," Aunt Amy said. "Not an arm and a leg, but at least a couple of fingers. Still, the tow truck's on its way now and maybe this'll be enough to get us out of Lexington before the First can rally its troops."

"I'm not going to count on that," Daria said.

"I wouldn't, either," Amy said.

"They can track me, not you," Daria said. "So-"

Right then a flash went off. "You're Daria Morndorffer, aren't you?" an excited man said.

"Yes. And for guessing correctly, you win a year's supply of Turtle Wax."

"Huh?"

"Do I know you?" Daria asked.

"I don't think so," the man said. "But I'm going to get some money for this!" He held up his right hand in the clichéd "I'm looking towards the future" gesture. "Imagine it! Me standing right next to a killer!"

"Yes. Imagine it. You standing right next to a killer and _pissing her off_."

The man took note of the irritation in Daria's voice and backed off, though he took a couple more pics as he did. The man might've been an ass, but it was hardly the first time Daria had run into someone like that. It had been a bit, but she wasn't completely surprised.

"That was angrier than I normally see you," Aunt Amy said.

"I've never suffered fools gladly. And I've suffered quite a few of this kind in the last month and a half."

"Ah." Aunt Amy seemed convinced, but Daria had to be careful. She'd been Faith there for a second, even if she hadn't lapsed into the accent.

"So," Jane said after a second. "Anyone for shuffleboard?"

Another flash went off.

X X X X X

The First Evil was pleased. The ambush of Daria Morgendorffer was proceeding approximately according to the plan laid out by its new servant. The expectations now were for the Slayer and her friends to go somewhere to have their vehicle repaired, or possibly to go somewhere to purchase or hire out another vehicle. Either avenue would take time - time that the First's Bringers would spend getting into position for a massive assault.

This would be somewhat more public than the First typically preferred.

But the eventual results would easily be worth it.

Besides, the Bringers knew what to do if they got caught. Escape if possible. Die by their own hand if not.

It would cost the First some devoted followers. But they were replaceable.

Linda Griffin had also explained what would happen, should the ambush fail. The woman had more plans than simply "attack, and then attack again." Which could work, should work, but, as the First well knew, chance was always a factor, and the Slayer was a trained warrior.

The First accepted this. A failure here would be disappointing, but not catastrophic

The First accepted this. A failure here would be disappointing, but not catastrophic, for either its servant, or its plans.

But it did not believe there would be failure this time.

X X X X X

They were at McNabb's Auto Shop by around noon. Three more people had taken Daria's picture in the interim. It turned out that someone online was paying a bounty, of sorts, for pictures of Daria, "for a planned book."

Amy Barksdale might not have had her fingers firmly pressed on the publishing pulse of America, but she would have damn well known if anyone else had been planning to write a book about Daria. She got what information she could, which Daria was passing on to Willow Rosenberg outside even now, along with a request for any help that could be given. Amy was going to research it herself if she got the chance, but her laptop needed to be plugged in for that.

She went in and slipped the person behind the counter the promised $100 for quick service.

"Should have everything done in about an hour," the man - his name was Miguel - said.

"An hour?" Amy asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Miguel said. "All the bays are in use and it's going to take us some time. It'll get done as fast as we can, but we ain't Supermen."

"Thank you," Amy said. Of course they'd waited until she got there and showed the money before preparing; they had no idea whether she was lying about the extra payment. She walked over to Jane and Amy.

"I heard," Daria said. "An hour will give the Bringers plenty of time, but maybe not as much time as they would have liked. If we're lucky, we should only face some of them. Shows what my life is, though; I'm lucky when only twenty slavering madmen are going to get the chance to kill us."

"Try not to be unlucky then, okay, amiga?" Jane said.

"Well, I had thought of maybe sticking around and giving them chance to work up a mass attack. But perhaps I'll hold off."

"Please do," Amy said. "Even though it'll give your devoted fans something to film."

"Daria Morgendorffer, movie star? Is the world ready for such screen presence?" Jane asked.

"Is your face ready for a blow from my fist?" Daria answered.

"Naah," Jane said. "I don't think I'd enjoy the meeting."

"Then why do you keep hinting that you'd like an introduction?"

Daria was giving the faint Mona-Lisa-esque smile that Amy herself had been known to use on occasion, so she knew they were joking. She couldn't quite read Jane as well, but assumed the same thing, as Amy had been the recipient of some of her irritation and this looked and sounded nothing like that.

Still, they had to be serious, for at least a minute. "So, what do we do?" Amy asked.

"They know where I am," Daria said. "I don't think they know where you are. Still, we can't assume that they might not have been ordered to put you in danger to get to me." She thought for a second. "So I'll try an experiment."

"And darn that I left my test tubes at home," Amy said. "What'd you have in mind?"

"Let me go look around outside for a couple of minutes and I'll let you know." She walked out the front door of the shop.

Amy turned to Jane and said, "Shuffleboard?"

"Bocce?" Jane asked. "Croquet? Hey, I'm versatile."

X X X X X

Daria took a couple of steps into McNabb's parking lot and looked around. The road they were on was six lanes, so crossing the street was out. To one side, up a one-foot hill, was what looked like a sports bar with the unimaginative name of Lexington Sports Bar and Grill, and to the other was an auto body shop.

No convenient abandoned buildings, but the bar parking lot was more or less empty. The auto body shop was closer, but a shitload more people would be in the line of fire, so no, unless the fight got really, really expansive.

Which it might. The First wouldn't have set this up without some kind of plan, even if she was pretty sure all the plan was was "pin the bitch down." That it might be "catch and kill the bitch's friends to demoralize her" was why she wasn't scouting the area for someplace better.

Where she was standing was maybe fifty feet from McNabb's front door, maybe seventy-five feet from the garage bays. There was a line of shrubs between McNabb's and the bar, but not one you couldn't see through if you tried. Could've been better, could've been worse. If the cops didn't show up at some point, she'd be surprised; but the First, unlike Glorificus, was unlikely to try actually assaulting them inside a police station.

She got the lay of the lot. The Lexington itself had no front windows. That could help keep things quiet, for a while, anyway. The pavement was typical parking area that hadn't been repaired in a few years; potholes and cracks abounded. Not a lot of trash lying around to be used as improvised weapons. A few cars. A trash dumpster towards the back of the lot. A free newspaper box on the sidewalk, and a couple of road signs. A trashcan by the bar's entrance.

In other words, basic flat area fighting surface. Room to move, but not a lot of places to bounce around. Easy to get surrounded, but if it came to the point where the Bringers looked like they were fucking remaking Night of the Living Dead, Daria would jump and run.

Not run away. Even Daria Lynn Morgendorffer wouldn't have abandoned people she cared about under those circumstances. Daria Faith Morgendorffer, not at bazookapoint. Slayers were tougher than ordinary people, even good fighters, but not tougher than twenty or thirty at once. Some would be faster than others. Running, for even a minute, would let her separate some out and take care of them.

She did a similar survey of the McNabb parking lot and the auto body shop next to it. More places to jump and duck, but more other people who might get hurt. Still knew enough to know that fights didn't go the way you planned them. Best to get as much intelligence as she could, while she could.

She hauled ass back to McNabb's, got the flail out of her motorcycle, and gestured for Jane and Amy to come outside.

When they did, Jane spoke first. "Do we need weapons?"

"Do you have any?" They both said no. "Then no point in asking. On the chance any of them get through, fight them by any means necessary short of throwing someone else in their way. Then scream. This isn't the time to try to not draw attention. I might not want to go to the Lexington Police, but better them than the Bringers. Understood?"

"Understood."

"If they don't attack, don't attack them, not even to save me. They're not after you. Stay down if you can."

"But—"

"No buts, Aunt Amy. No is, no ands, no maybes. This is what I'm trained to do. Unless you were a Navy Seal, a ninja, or Batgirl in another life, you can only do more to hurt me than help me out there. Don't take this personally. You don't know how. Neither does Jane."

Amy took a deep breath and then said, "You can't make me like it."

"If you liked it, I'd worry," Daria said.

"Daria?" Jane said. "I think the neighbors are coming for a visit."

Daria looked up and saw three Bringers, albeit in jeans, t-shirts and sunglasses, coming towards her. They were anywhere between 100-150 feet away.

"In," Daria said. "Now."

They both looked unhappy, but neither one argued, both retreating to the slightly more safe waiting area of McNabb's. Daria began walking towards the Lexington parking lot, and all three veered towards her. Quick check of the surroundings: No other visible Bringers, who stood out to Daria even with their disguises. She jumped up the hill and backed away, keeping her attackers in view.

They came at her all at once. Two carried knives, one a club. Daria had her flail and a knife; she'd left the stakes in the bike. No vampires, no point.

She charged at their charge, knocking over the center Bringer, and clocked one of them in the back of the skull with the ball of the flail as it passed. No reason to be delicate, and she wasn't. The Bringer went down, twitched, then lay still.

The third one stopped, turned, and flung its knife. At the first sign that it was going to do just that, Daria picked up the Bringer she'd run over and let the knife catch in the shoulder, then shoved it in the general direction of its companion.

They collided. Daria didn't waste time and went over and hit them both over the back of the head while they were still trying to get untangled. As they went down, Daria took their knives and their club and threw them towards the dumpster; the weapons went in, one after the other. She'd have dumped the Bringers themselves in there if she thought she had the time.

She looked around, quickly. No one else was coming, yet, and no one appeared to be paying attention. 'course, she couldn't tell if maybe someone had called the cops as they drove by, so she settled for piling up the bodies, like firewood, after hitting each of them in the back of the head again. She didn't want them to wake up for quite a while. Then she broke their hands. Even if they woke up, they wouldn't be carrying weapons.

Damn that they were still technically human. Demon corpses tended to disappear in the system, wherever the heck you were. But no, they still were, so Daria couldn't bring herself to kill them. She'd gone that path before and would be damned before she did so again.

Mocking applause behind her. She whirled and saw Buffy standing there –

Or, since Buffy was in Sunnydale, the First Evil, disguised as Buffy.

"Glad I meet with your approval."

"Hey, if it works, it works," it said. "You'd probably be better off killing them, though. Not like you don't have oodles of experience doing that." She shrugged. "Hey, it's what I'd do."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not you." In case this was an intentional distraction, Daria looked around; there were no Bringers on the horizon.

"You think so? You really think so? Hey, I was done with the First by now."

"Yeah. And it makes me wonder what I've got that the real B didn't, since you were done with Buffy by now as well." After a second, "What is it that makes me special?"

The First refused to answer – like Daria'd been expecting otherwise – and instead said, "Tell you what. You survive the day, I'll give you a hint."

"Well," Daria said. "A vague and meaningless promise of a vague and meaningless tip. Now I have something to live for."

There was no reply – The First had vanished.

Still no other Bringers visible.

Daria went back to the McNabb's parking lot and flashed a quick grin to the obviously worried Aunt Amy and Jane, inside.

She closed her eyes and tried "sensing."

There was another one close by. Where -?

She caught on just in time. Think in three dimensions, Morgendorffer. She ran back along the side of the building until she was out of sight of the people in the waiting room. Then she jumped and pulled herself up onto the McNabb's roof.

A Bringer was rushing towards her and tackled her before she could fully get her balance, trying to shove her off the roof. It had the wrong angle, and though Daria landed on the edge with her left arm completely off, she didn't fall.

Rolling to her feet, she disposed of the Bringer before it could do anything else, tangle its feet with the flail to knock it down and then clouting in the back of the head, twice, to keep it that way. Then she broke its hands and rolled it off the roof.

Carefully, then, she looked around. She was almost out of sight of the road in front of her, there was a wooded lot behind her, and no one to either side could possibly see her because of the angles. She extended her senses again.

Ten Bringers in the wooded lot behind her.

Another six or seven somewhere off to the left. Plus a couple of demons, whom she didn't particularly care about at this point short of one actually trying to ignite the next apocalypse.

None to the left, and none across the road.

That she could sense them at all meant they were a lot closer than she would have liked.

Shit. This was about to turn into a full-blown war.

X X X X X

Four attacks so far; and the day was just beginning.

Daria had asked Willow Rosenberg for any help she could give.

That help was forthcoming, and some would call it "luck" that this person happened to be nearby.

Some would call a freak snowstorm in Sunnydale, California "luck" as well.

They would all, of course, be wrong.


	18. The Battle of Lexington, Part II

Author's Note: I have reasons beyond combat for bringing in who I've chosen to bring in.

X X X X X

Leaving the injured Bringer on the roof, Daria jumped down and hurried into the McNabb's waiting room. "Has anyone said or done anything?"

"No one in here," Amy said, quietly. "What's happened?"

"Three in the bar parking lot, one on the roof, at least fifteen more very close by. Stay in here unless they set the building on fire. If the cops come, you had no idea what was going on."

"You okay so far, amiga?" Jane asked.

"So far. If I can still say that in an hour, I'll be very happy." She saw a Bringer out of the front window. "I have to go."

She walked out the front door and caught the Bringers' attention. Just like the other ones she'd seen today, they were dressed in jeans, t-shirts and sunglasses, so while they looked a little odd they weren't anything you'd run in horror from on sight.

Dammit. That would've been a shitload easier, too, if and when the cops finally showed up.

Flash!

Well, this was great. Not only would she have to fight a dozen Bringers for her life, the police would have a photographic record of the entire thing.

"You're Daria Mordengorfer!"

"And you're about to drop your camera." The Bringers were getting closer. Daria slowly backed towards the Lexington's parking lot.

"What?" he said, right as Daria grabbed the camera from his hands and flung it to the ground, where it shattered.

"See? Butterfingers."

"I'll - I'll sue!"

"Come back in one hour and I'll give you double the price you paid. But right now, run."

"Run! I'm -"

The Bringer behind him shoved him to one side; he landed on the sidewalk while the Bringer pulled out a knife and lunged at Daria. "I said, _run_."

He didn't need to be told twice, taking off down the sidewalk like a pissed Hulk was chasing him.

Daria didn't give him another thought, because one Bringer was practically on top of her and three others were closing fast.

She kicked the approaching one in the stomach, turned, and ran to the side of the bar. No windows here, either, and further away from the street. A quick scan of the treeline showed no Bringers coming from that direction.

Yet. Either they were having trouble getting over the fence or they were waiting for a signal.

There were five Bringers coming at her this time. The first one to reach her stopped and waited about ten feet away. The second and third ones also stopped there -

They were trying to circle her.

Like hell was that going to happen.

If they were trying to force her backwards, towards the end of the lot, they didn't have the manpower to pull it off. They'd need at least a dozen Bringers for that, not the four – no, five – they had now.

And she wasn't going to stand around and watch while they did, either. Figuring if the tactic had worked once, it would work again, Daria charged the center Bringer, only to be brought short when the Bringer rapidly pulled out a knife and slashed it at her.

That's why they'd stopped ten feet away this time. She had to remember that the Bringers, though sure as shit monomaniacal about their devotion to the First, were not stupid, and could learn, especially when they had a guiding intelligence, whoever that intelligence turned out to be. (And if it wasn't Linda Griffin, Daria would follow Jane's example and eat her hat.)

Daria ran through these thoughts while the other Bringers tried to dogpile on her, each one slashing with its knife, except for the one that seemed to have an honest-to-god old-fashioned blackjack.

She loved her flail, but trouble was, close quarters like this it wasn't a whole lot of good. She dodged slashes for a second – one caught her left arm, enough to draw blood but not deep – and waited until a Bringer overbalanced slightly after its attack, and then charged it, shoving its knife arm backwards hard enough to break the arm and knock it down. She quickly turned and kicked it in the head before the other Bringers could react.

And react they did, and quickly, leaping on her en masse and knocking her down.

Okay. Time to get serious. Four Bringers on top of her meant only two really had any good chances to land serious blows, if she kept thrashing, and she did.

But two would be enough, if the blows landed in the right place.

Eventually, one of them would, if she wasn't both lucky and good.

Can't get up. Can't throw them off. Another knife connected, but caught her pants and didn't cut too deeply.

But, if she waited for the right time –

Now!

She rolled, forcing three of the Bringers off and away, and ending up on top of the fourth one. She slammed its head into the parking lot surface, hard, and leapt to her feet. Two down.

Three to –

And here came the group at the treeline. And it wasn't a dozen; it was seventeen.

Plus the three she was currently dancing with.

Lovely.

Times like this she wished for a little bit of Faith's devil-may-care attitude.

On some level, even though she was fighting for her life, Faith would have thought this was _fun_.

Daria didn't.

Grimly, she turned towards the three Bringers she was still facing. "Your buddies ain't going to make it here in time to help you," she said.

And she made it true, for two of them, anyway.

X X X X X

"Hear any sirens?" Jane Lane quietly asked Amy Barksdale.

"No. The only person who seems to have noticed anything major is the one man with the camera, and fast as he was running he's in Tennessee by now."

"This sucks. Waiting like this."

Amy sighed. "I know. And I wish I were Batgirl. But I'm not. You and I are in good enough shape that we might be able to fight one of those Bringer things. Maybe two, if we were really lucky. But it would hurt Daria if we got hurt."

"I know, I know. Doesn't make it suck any less."

A man came in the front door of McNabb's. Looking around, he focused on Amy and Jane. "Is one of you Jane Lane?" he asked quietly.

Something about him reminded Jane of Trent.

"Who wants to know?" Amy asked.

"Not someone working for the First. If one of you can call Willow Rosenberg –"

"Daria left her phone," Jane said. "Hold on." She went down the list of recent calls and dialed the number belonging to Willow on the list.

It picked up on the third ring. "Daria?"

"No. Jane Lane. This Willow Rosenberg?"

"Yup."

"Did you send us someone?"

"Oh! He's there already?"

"He is," Jane said. "Assuming this – say something, man I don't know –" Jane held the phone up to the man.

He took it – proof he wasn't the First Evil himself – and said "Something." Then he handed the phone back to Jane.

Jane said, "And?"

"And that's the person I sent." After a second. "Now prove you're Jane Lane."

"How?"

"What's the only book you and I have talked about?"

"Watchmen," Jane said. "Mostly Fearful Symmetry." A pause, then. "Probably should've asked that first, though." Still, Jane was more or less convinced, at this point.

"I know. Call me and let me know what happens, okay?"

"Okay," Jane said and hung up. Then, to the man, "Okay. You're the help." She tried not to sound not impressed, and didn't completely succeed. The man in front of her didn't look particularly dangerous, but neither did Daria or Buffy.

"I'm the help," he said. "Where's Daria?"

"One parking lot over," Amy said. "Fighting."

"Thanks. I'll do what I can."

"That's our help?" Amy asked after the man had left.

"That's our help," Jane confirmed. "I know, I was hoping for the Super Friends. But anything's better than nothing."

"Super Friends?" Amy asked. "At this point, I'd settle for the cast of Friends."

"No one told you it was going to be this way, did they?" Jane asked.

Amy glared at her.

"What?"

X X X X X

Daria knew someone had called the cops by now. They'd said as much when they came out of the Lexington into the parking lot and had yelled at them to stop fighting.

It might not be a surprise, but no one actually stopped fighting. He yelled one more time; two of the Bringers broke away from harassing her and went after the woman, who'd wisely run back into the bar, shouting that she was going to call the cops.

In the meantime, Daria was bouncing around the parking lot like a pinball, trying not to let herself get trapped between a large group of Bringers and anything. So far, she had another cut on her arm and bruises and scrapes from being thrown, at various times, to the asphalt, into a wall, or through the shrubbery. Her left elbow hurt like hell, as well, though it wasn't broken.

Of the eighteen Bringers that were standing when the war began, three were down badly enough that they couldn't help their cohorts, but that still left fifteen chasing her, and there was no guarantee this was it, either.

She tagged one on the back of the knee with the flail. Rolled to avoid knife slashes from two more. Sprung up so they wouldn't pile on her.

There had also been a couple of more photographers, who either didn't give a shit about her circumstances, were more interested in the money they were going to get, or, in today's society, both. (Thus confirming her general opinion of the ethics of most of the people on the planet.)

She'd have to rely on _deus ex Rosenberg_ to minimize the pictures. Assuming she got the chance.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a vaguely familiar face –

Holy fucking crap.

Oz.

Wolfboy his own self.

Daria cracked one over the head and dodged another one's attempt to smack her in the arm with a blackjack.

What was Oz doing? He was standing there with his eyes closed, chanting something to himself.

Three of the Bringers broke away from the mob and came towards him, knives flashing in the sun from more or less directly overhead. When they were maybe five feet away, he opened his eyes, grinned, and said, "Rules change. Rules change. Rules change."

Then he went werewolf.

If Daria hadn't been fighting for her life, her jaw would have smashed into the parking lot. What the fuck was he thinking? As though things weren't bad enough without a rampaging werewolf.

Except, she noticed while punching a Bringer in the jaw, he wasn't exactly rampaging. No throats were being torn out, no still-beating hearts being ripped from chests. Oz was counting coup, but not killing the Bringers in the process. Scratching, menacing, leaping on, knocking down, but damned little blood was being spilled.

Between the two of them, they had another six Bringers down by the time they could hear the sirens.

Fourteen Bringers staggered, limped, or ran for the treeline; this included some of the ones she'd knocked out earlier in the fight.

As they ran off, Oz stopped and became a human being again. "You've got it under control, I see," Daria said.

"More or less. No time to chat now."

"The police are coming from the road, there are at least a dozen Bringers lurking in the woods, and I doubt they're going to let us into the bar."

"I have a plan. Follow me."

He shoved his way through the shrubbery lining the parking lot and Daria followed him, with the police still down the block. They went down the short hill and stopped by the side of a van. "Mine," he said, opening it off.

"Good. I'm not being rescued by a car thief."

"Not today, anyway." He opened the back door. "Let's get your motorcycle."

"Can you help when you're human?"

"Some. Enough. Wouldn't've offered otherwise."

"Right." Daria wheeled her bike up, taking the stakes and the copy of _Dhalgren _from the tiny trunk, and then, with Oz's assistance, got it into the back of his van. It was a tight fit, but there were only two seats.

"Now you."

"Me?"

"No one saw me to recognize. They saw you. You need to be hidden."

"Makes sense. But if the Bringers come back -"

"I'll pound on the side of the van," Oz said. "You might want to take a look at those cuts. Slayer healing, but they can still get infected. First aid kit inside."

Daria jumped inside and Oz shut the door as three police cars roared by.

X X X X X

"Who was that?" Linda Griffin asked the First, once again in the shape of her mother.

"That, dear, is a werewolf and a friend of the other Slayer. I'd thought he was in Tibet, but apparently I was wrong. Now," she said sternly. "Why did you order the Bringers to break off the attack? I thought they had an excellent chance."

"They did not, in my judgment, and that is what you brought me on for, correct? Without the help of the werewolf, they probably would have overwhelmed her. But the plan we were using, primitive though it was, would have worked had she been alone. She was injured and bound to make a fatal mistake eventually. Two people, though, both superhuman? No. Better to fight another day. Still a small chance one would get in a lucky strike, but once the police arrived, I judged it better to save the manpower." After a second. "How many ended their lives to avoid capture?"

"Eight," the First said.

"That leaves us with thirty-five," Linda said. "More than enough for future efforts, if we plan. And my other avenues are having some success, as well." She opened up her computer. "Observe. I have several dozen pictures already. Including some of her fighting the Bringers. I believe I will anonymously send some of these to the police of any community Ms. Morgendorffer spends time is. She is, after all, a known troublemaker."

The First smiled. "Why, so she is, dear. I wish this had worked; but we knew it might not. Slayers, especially, are unpredictable, and luck sometimes seems to be on their side. You'll get them next time."

"Is there an 'or else' attached to the end of that sentence?" Linda asked.

"Not yet, dear."

X X X X X

The man had come back about ten minutes after he left, and Amy and Jane watched him help load first Daria's motorcycle and then Daria herself into the back of the van, just seconds before the police roared by. The other customers in the waiting room spilled out when they heard the cars pull into the bar next door, and then the man came in and said, "Might want to come look."

"Right," Amy said. At Jane's puzzled look, she said, "It'll look suspicious if we're the only people not buried in an engine block who aren't gawking, or at least trying to."

"Ah. So you want us to join the huddled masses yearning to sell pictures to the Enquirer."

"Something like that," Amy said. "Let's go."

As they walked over, she said, "What's your name?"

"Oh. Sorry. Oz."

"Oz, Oz," Jane said, as though trying to place the name. "Where have I heard that before?"

"The movie?"

"Not just that."

Oz said, "Used to date Willow. Maybe she mentioned it."

Jane snapped her fingers. "Right! You're a guitarist like my brother Trent."

"Hmmm. Yes. And here we are."

Amy hadn't quite been expecting this. There were eight bodies, all Bringers, lying on the ground; most were bloody, though Amy couldn't see the wounds, and felt she should probably be thankful for that fact. It should have been shocking, but it wasn't; that it wasn't, was even more shocking.

Two police officers were approaching the crowd, trying to push it back while simultaneously asking if anyone knew anything.

"E equals MC squared," Amy said.

"Anyone know anything relevant?" One person stepped forward and was pulled aside; he began describing the fight. Another one handed over a camera, with great reluctance.

Shit. Someone had photos?

Maybe more than one someone. This man was handing over his camera. Daria had knocked down another would-be Arbus earlier.

That meant the police would have them, and possibly newspapers or television.

That fell somewhere short of terrific.

The police officer closest to them said, loudly, "Okay! You don't know anything, be about your business!"

A couple of people left, giving Jane, Amy and Oz the opportunity to back away and head back to McNabb's themselves.

Good news when they got there. "Ms. Barksdale?" Miguel said. "Got your car done. Four brand-new tires."

"Thank you. And thank you for getting me in and out so quickly."

"For an extra $100? Anytime." Amy handed the man her credit card. "And any time you're in Lexington, remember McNabb's."

"We will. Thank you."

Amy nodded to Jane and Oz, and they all walked outside. "So, you with us for the duration?" Amy asked.

Oz nodded. "Yes."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. I always had trouble telling Willow no."

"Then I'm glad Daria called her."

"Me too," Jane said. "Now can we blow this joint?" Amy and Oz looked at her. "What? I always wanted to say that."

"There is such a thing as not saying everything that comes into your head," Amy said.

"Yes. And I want no part of it."

X X X X X

Stipulated: I don't follow season 8 continuity. Also stipulated: Given this, the last time we actually see Oz, not in a dream, is in New Moon Rising. Anything beyond that is fan-created.

Therefore, I say that in the intervening year-plus since his return to Sunnydale, Oz has now developed the ability to, at least partially, control himself when he becomes a wolf.


	19. You Can't Go Home Again

"We're clear of the area. You can come up if you want," Oz said.

"With all of this luxury back here?" Daria was hunched behind the drivers' side seat, out of the way of the motorcycle, taking up most of the floor space, and Oz's gear, which took up most of the rest.

"True. First class is nicer, though."

"Do I get a catered meal?"

"Budget cuts."

"Damn," Daria said. "Who do I complain to?" She maneuvered past the various cargoes and plopped herself in the front seat.

"I'm the complaint department."

"Of course." After a second, "Look. Thank you for helping. Don't know if I would've made it out, otherwise."

"You're welcome."

"Especially the history –"

"You're not Faith," Oz said. "Willow said so. Even if she hadn't, I'd've known."

Well, she was partly Faith, but apparently Oz hadn't been let into that secret. "How? Something related to your wolf, or sheer brainpower?"

"Both, actually. You don't smell like Faith."

"Hmmm. So different personalities smell different. That's not something I would have expected."

"Not that, exactly. Faith used makeup, a different shampoo, a different deodorant. You have a lot less of that." Daria Faith Morgendorffer used lipstick and nothing else. It was the compromise she'd come up with internally, though she couldn't have given her reasoning on the topic. "And you don't carry yourself like Faith. A little bit, here and there. But you're not acting."

"Glad to be accepted so quickly."

"Willow was part of it," he said. "I think she was embarrassed by something."

"She gave me a hard time the first time I went to Sunnydale," Daria said. "It took her awhile to accept me. I'm glad to see she has."

"She has," he said.

"Good thing for me that you were in the area," Daria said. "I guess sometimes luck can be on my side."

"Not entirely luck," Oz said. "I was meditating in Tibet when I got a sign that I needed to be in Kentucky on or about July 1."

"Did this sign say 'One Way' on the other side?"

"Wrong way, go back," Oz said. "But signs like this, you don't ignore. Didn't say why, but I didn't think it was to reestablish my music career."

"You still have the guitar, though."

"Of course."

"So what did Willow tell you about the situation?"

"Everything she had, starting from when you first discovered you weren't you to earlier this morning. Plenty of details. Took her about five minutes."

Daria smirked at that one. "One suspects a good Willow-English dictionary might be a useful tool."

"But the market would be too small."

"So we'll charge $1000 a copy. And speaking of Willow, I need to call her."

It was a fast call; enough to thank her for Oz and ask her to keep an eye out for any photographs or police reports mentioning her, specifically those originating around Lexington, Kentucky. And also to research Linda Griffin.

"You're presuming on my kindness a little too much there, missy," Willow said after Daria was done asking for favors.

"I apologize. Next time, I'll go off in a corner and die quietly." It was said teasingly, but Daria had to say it. "Look. I do appreciate it. Thank you."

"Don't mention it, Daria. I still owe you."

They hung up.

X X X X X

Later, Daria caught a quick nap. They'd decided they were going to stop around Scottsburg, Indiana to have a late lunch, and Daria was, for various reasons, exhausted.

Yeah, she'd been lucky. The Bringers could've killed her if Oz hadn't shown up. She wasn't saying it was definite, but it was very possible.

And, depressing as she thought the world was at times, living was sure as hell better than the alternative. For one thing, unless you chose Spike or Angel's method of going about it, dead people couldn't read.

She was back in a familiar apartment almost immediately, and was immediately suspicious. She hadn't been here since the three parts of her personality had been joined. Hadn't been a need.

She moved to look out the window, which now looked out over -

Highland? Specifically, a view of their house in Highland, at night but well lit by street lamps that hadn't actually existed in the real world.

Okay . . .

"Not a bad view, is it?" she heard behind her.

Whirling, she saw Buffy standing there. "And how would you know? You've never been there."

"Buffy" shrugged. "I can still see."

"And anyway, it's a horrible view."

"No, the view's perfectly fine," said with a giggle. "What it's viewing, now, maybe that's a different story."

"Why are you here?" Daria said.

"Well, when a mommy and daddy love each other very much . . . "

"I meant, why are _you_ here, First?"

"Just enjoying the view," it said. "Also keeping a promise."

"Promise?"

"I told you I'd give you a hint about why I wanted you dead."

And this is your way of doing it?" Daria asked. "Showing me a view of my old house?"

"Naah, just more fun for me this way," it said. "This way I get to poke around inside your head. You know, there's a lot of stuff in here."

"Sorry I didn't have that storage system put in," Daria said acidly. "So, yo: The hint?"

"You'd almost think you didn't want me around."

"Imagine that."

"Tell you what," it said. "You come watch the view from the window and I'll tell you what I promised I would."

Daria said, "No. I don't need the hint that much that I'm deliberately going to go along with whatever psych game you're trying to play. You think I'm fucking stupid or something?"

"I know better. Come on!" It said with mock enthusiasm. "Last chance to cooperate . . ."

"Let me add a 'hell' to my earlier 'no."

It shrugged. "Okay. Then I guess I'm going to have to bring the show in here."

And before Daria could respond, or react at all, the half-seen view from outside rushed up to overwhelm the apartment.

She saw a man walking down the street, then up to their front door.

Shit. The First was feeding her a vision of Willard Jay Harbaugh murdering her parents.

Harbaugh himself looked like Daria remembered; of course, she only remembered him from last week, when she'd watched him being executed. She didn't want to look too closely.

While she was in prison, Dr. Vaughn had hypnotized her and led her through what had happened, and Daria had explicitly asked her not to let her remember any of it. Later on, she'd discovered that was a good idea, when she'd read Aunt Amy's book on Harbaugh's crimes and her own disappearance – specifically, the chapter dealing with the events of the night of April 10, 1997. After reading the chapter, Daria had been enveloped in a damn-near all-consuming rage, doing her best to punch her way out of a jail cell, and coming pretty fucking close to pulling it off.

And the First was going to show it to her, starting with the part she couldn't possibly have seen or remembered, because she was working with Beavis and Butthead on one last school project while all of this was going on.

Angel had warned her that the First probably wanted to make her angry. There was nothing in her life more likely to do that, than seeing this.

Nothing else even came close.

Harbaugh kicked down the front door and the dream's "camera view" followed Harbaugh inside, slowly, as though the First were using slow motion instant replay. It caught up with him just in time to see him pulling a gun on her protesting father, who was beginning to get up from the couch he was sitting on.

"Hey! You can't do that!" Dad said. Harbaugh quickly raised his gun and began to fire.

_No!_

A gunshot rang out, but Daria was no longer looking, having turned away and closed her eyes.

"Hey!" The First said, still in B's voice. "No fair! That's cheating!"

"Oh, so we're playin' fair now? Marquis of Queensbury rules and everything?"

"No; my game, my rules."

"My head, my rules."

"Just keep telling yourself that."

"What? Daddy!" Quinn's voice came.

Then Daria heard a scream that sounded very much like Quinn's, and then a gunshot.

The rage was building, despite herself. She had to get out her.

She had an out she didn't the First knew about, though damn near any human being would have.

Since Daria knew it was a dream, she could pinch herself and wake up.

Pinch-

X X X X X

The First was kicked back into the In-Dark when Daria Morgendorffer somehow woke herself up. It would have to remember that she was capable of that in the future. She was strong-willed and aware in her dreams, much more so than the vampire had been. The vampire had been unaware that he was dreaming until he'd awakened.

The First had learned. It would work more quickly in the future - or influence an already created dream instead of creating its own. It would not use the apartment again. The Slayer had too much control there.

It had hoped to be able to penetrate her mind more thoroughly and deeply than it had yet been able to while she was conscious. Not accustomed to not having thorough access to a mind, it had so far only picked up stray thoughts and emotions, and not all of those. Enough to know to focus on the rage. But while it had been able to create the dream, and appear within it, the way to the rest of Daria Morgendorffer's mind had been blocked.

It had had to work with the thoughts of others, dead and living, relying on the memories of the Slayer's deceased family to show what had actually happened to them when they had been murdered. Memories of the other person there, the murderer himself, were not available. That only occurred when a certain variety of demon had been present at the demise, one that fed on death in the same way vampires fed on blood. This feeding destroyed the mental remnants of a life that were typically accessible in the In-Dark.

From what it could perceive, its attempts to draw Daria Morgendorffer into rage had met with some success. The Slayer was not helpless, as it had hoped. But this, perhaps, could be a good sign of things to come.

There was so much rage left to be let out.

X X X X X

Daria jolted awake with a loud yelp inside the van. A road sign said Scottsburg, ten miles. Next to her, Oz said, "You okay?"

"No," Daria growled.

Growled?

Yes, growled. If the First had wanted her mad, it had done a good job.

"What happened?"

"The First showed up in my dream, looking like Buffy. It tried to show me a scene of my parents and sister getting murdered. It got maybe halfway through when I forced myself to wake up."

"Why would it do this?"

"To make me mad. I can't handle that level of pure rage. I've only had to deal with it once before. And now I need to tell you something so you won't be surprised by what I do next."

"What?" And she gave Oz two minutes on how she was actually still partly Faith. He raised his eyebrows, but didn't say anything until she was done. "Thanks for trusting me."

"No problem. Wish it was more trust than having to do this." And her self-control vanished, and she spent the next five minutes swearing and screaming in anger. She did not hit anything. The only thing to hit was the door, glove compartment, and windows of the van, and she'd break the first two and the third would hurt her more than it would get rid of her anger.

When she was done, they were almost at the turnoff. "Do you feel better?"

"A little. Not a whole hell of a lot." But that little meant something. It meant this wasn't an unending pool of vitriol, like the one she'd experienced in prison.

"Huh."

"That was a knowing huh. What you got there, wolfboy?"

His eyebrows rose at "wolfboy," but he didn't respond to the Faithian phrasing, instead saying, "I know why I was sent here."

"You mean, apart from preventing me from getting slaughtered by a mob of Bringers?" Daria was starting to recover her equilibrium.

"Exactly. If all you needed was a good fighter, there are plenty of those. Better than I am. I'm competent there, but not a real expert. No. I was sent here to help you handle the rage."

"I'm still not exactly Faith," Daria said. "So I'm sorry if my memories are faulty. You? Rage?"

"Me. Rage," Oz said without a trace of humor. "You may have noticed back there in the bar parking lot – I can control the change now. And control myself when I do change."

"I did notice, what with not being blind and all."

Oz smiled slightly. "Yes. But you were distracted."

"Perhaps a little."

"In any event, you – the Faith part of you – had woken up from your coma and were out of Sunnydale when I came back for the final time. Thought I was coming back for Willow, but "You can't go home again."

"Figures you to quote a Wolfe."

A quick grin. "Yes. But one of the reasons I came back is I found a way of controlling the changes. Herbs. Nothing that would get a second glance from police. But now I change whenever I get angry. Found that out when I tried to kill Tara." A rueful expression. "The wolf couldn't handle that Willow had moved on. Still has trouble. But that's what I've been doing for the last year. Learning ways to control it. Let it out only at intervals, when appropriate. Not to let it control me."

"And you think you were sent here to teach me that?"

Oz said, "I'm sure of it. Especially if the First knows anger would cripple you, Might make it easier to kill you; might be for some other reason."

"I don't suppose it's as simple a matter as taking some herbs."

"No."

"Of course not. Why should my life get any easier now?" Daria asked cynically. "I'm warning you, though. You get me sitting in a lotus position and chanting about how great things are and, once I regain my sanity, I will kill you."

"Understood. And my objective isn't going to be changing who you are. It's simply preventing rage from taking over, when it gets a hold. I'm not exactly overflowing with optimism myself most of the time."

"And how does your gut feeling say I'm going to handle Anger Management 101 as taught by Larry Talbot?"

"I won't try if you don't want to learn," Oz said, not reproachfully in the least.

"Does 'willing to go along with it to stop the bad guy' count as want to, in your book?"

"Close enough."

They reached Scottsburg with Daria beginning to feel normal again.

Meditation, later. Food, now.


	20. Werewhippoorwills

It took Linda Griffin a few hours to gather the Bringers, both those who had scattered at her order and those who had not been able to make it to the battle. She now had a total of 37 Bringers. The first thing she did was, go to (shudder) Wal-Mart and buy cheap street clothes and sunglasses for those who did not have them yet.

This would give Daria Morgendorffer and her friends something more of a lead – they were well into Indiana by the time Linda was done buying the clothing – but that could not be helped. She would catch up, eventually. Thanks to the First, she did not need to sleep, and would certainly be able to play catch-up while Ms. Morgendorffer and her friends did so. The Bringers did sleep, but were happy doing so whenever the mood took them.

She'd also traded in her rental trailer for a rental moving truck. That meant she had to leave the SUV behind, but that was also a rental and it was hardly as though she had any attachment to it.

While she'd waited, she'd checked her computer. She had quite a few photographs of Ms. Morgendorffer, and her mysterious werewolf friend, in battle, and apparently so did the Lexington police, though they had yet to identify the "mysterious woman and her dog." She suspected they were ignoring the parts that showed the "dog" had been human.

So was she, at least in terms of what photographs she was sending out. She was trying to catch the attention of law enforcement authorities, not the Weekly World News.

There were no photographs along her current path of movement, but then, they had not stopped and the young woman had probably stayed as hidden as she could. Kept her helmet on, and everything. She was clearly quite intelligent. That was one of the things that made this assignment fun. It was fun to pick off those of lesser intellect, but far too easy. Shooting fish in a barrel got boring after a while.

The First had informed her that it was going to "invade the Slayer's dreams" to try to provoke a reaction that would cripple her, emotionally. This could be useful. A damaged individual was easier to manipulate.

Linda liked a challenge. She did not like to lose those challenges.

In the meantime, she needed to plan the next assault. The First would let her know, when the Slayer stopped, whether there were any Bringers in the vicinity. She had decided that there would be attacks at every available opportunity, even if there were likely not enough attackers to actually defeat the young woman.

It would keep her off balance; it would keep her looking over her shoulder; it would make her angry; and there was always the possibility that one of them might get in a lucky shot.

There were none in the area in Indiana where they had stopped or the moment. None close enough, at any rate.

Ah well. Perhaps later.

She loaded the Bringers into the back of the delivery van and left Lexington.

X X X X X

They ended up, to Jane Lane's not particularly great surprise, at a pizza place. Not that Jane objected to pizza; heaven forfend. She'd spent a good deal of her misspent youth in and around the Pizza King, mostly sitting by herself, occasionally with a classmate, almost always Jodie Landon, Mack Mackenzie, or Brittany Taylor, who was thoughtlessly nice to anyone she didn't think was trying to steal her Kevvie from her. Jane wasn't sure whether she should take Brittany not thinking of her as a threat as a compliment or an insult. Goodness knows Brittany herself wouldn't have intended it either way.

She shook her head and smirked at herself. Here she was, in the middle of Nowhere, Indiana, with an unexpectedly close friend she'd met less than two months ago, the friend's aunt, and a distinctly cute savior/musician who drove a van that reminded her of The Tank, only roadworthy. (The Spiral's current van wasn't much better, but it had four seats and didn't drive like it would lose a collision with a gray squirrel), and here she was reminiscing about the bad old days.

Of course, part of that was because taking too close a look at the days that lay ahead of them would have been no damn fun at all. This was still better than hanging out in Lawndale would have ever been, but Jane knew damn well that death could be around any corner. She'd seen Daria, briefly, when she came back from the fight, before Oz had bundled her away in the van. She hadn't looked dead, but she'd sure as hell looked like she'd been in a fight.

For the moment, Jane would go along for the ride. Hell, it was a ride she couldn't get off, not at this point; it might seem like things had slowed down but she knew that a big dip was right around the corner where they weren't expecting.

In the meantime, there was pizza, and the discussion of their immediate plans. They were going up Indiana until they got to Route 70, and they were going to head west from there. Presuming they were still alive when they got to the end in Utah, they'd hash that out then.

"We should be in and around Indianapolis right in time for the height of rush hour," Amy said. "I'm hoping to make it to Terre Haute before we need to make our next significant stop." A significant stop was one longer than it took to gas up, pee, and grab some snacks.

"Could strike out across country," Oz said. "Nothing saying we have to stick to the interstates."

"And I'm sure that big forest in the middle of the state has nothing to do with that, right?" Daria asked. She'd been in a bad mood when she walked in, explaining curtly that the First had tried to attack her in her sleep.

"What did it do?" Amy had asked, a second before Jane did.

"Tried to show me my parents' murder. The chapter I won't read," Daria had said.

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"You explain it," Daria had said. "I don't have the stomach for it."

And Amy had done so, though she'd taken about thirty seconds and hadn't provided many details. Internally, Jane called the First Evil every name she could think of, but knew as she did so that the First probably considered them compliments. She might not have been blessed with an overabundance of concern for her fellow human beings, but this? This she wouldn't have wished on Kevin Thompson or Sandi Griffin. Jane's idea of evil was making Brittany Taylor think that footballs were made out of cute little piggies. That compared to this? Nothing.

Oz was answering Daria's question. "I wouldn't mind. But it's not something I need, really."

"I think I'd prefer speed," Daria said. "I've been avoiding patrolling for vampires since all of this started as well."

Oz shrugged. "Then I can wait. Just a thought."

There was a subtext here Jane wasn't getting. "Why would Daria think you might like a jaunt in the forest?"

"I'm a werewolf."

"Really?" Jane said. "I would have said werewhippoorwill, myself."

"Sorry," Oz said, smiling slightly. "No such thing." A pause. "The werekestrels ate them all." Daria smiled and Amy snorted, trying to suppress a laugh.

"A man who knows his birds. I approve. So tell me, young Oz," she asked. "Are Amy or I – mostly me – in any danger? We gonna wake up one night and find you leaning over us ready to rend us limb from limb?" The question was pretty much exactly half-serious. She didn't think so – Daria wouldn't have trusted him, otherwise – but it really didn't hurt to check.

"No," Oz said evenly.

"Who says he'll let you wake up?" Daria said. She seemed to be back to normal. "And how do you know your birds, Jane? I thought you weren't fond of artists who painted happy little trees."

Jane shrugged. "I'm not. But an artist needs to stretch herself, and since I usually tend towards the abstract one summer I spent a couple of months trying to do nature paintings instead." And she had been good enough that she probably could have made a living doing that, had she been so inclined.

She wasn't. Dummying up copies of famous works for Gary's Gallery half-time was as far down the road to conventional as this artiste extraordinaire planned to go, thank you very much.

"Run into many were werewhippoorwills, did you?" Amy asked.

"How would I know?" Jane asked.

"So we have where and how set up. How about who?" Amy asked after a brief pause while they all took several bites of the two just-delivered pizzas.

"I think I'll keep my bike in mobile storage for the moment," Daria said. "If anyone's out there looking for me, they'll be looking for me on my ride, not in the passenger seat of a van."

"Okay, but not what I was getting at," Amy said. "I was hoping for some different companionship."

"I'm not going to even pretend to be offended," Jane said. Because honestly, she was too, and while she and Amy Barksdale had come to a working truce and the woman was an interesting conversationalist, she was fairly sure they'd never come remotely close to being friends. They shared concern for Daria, and neither one was evil with a capital E. Good enough for allies.

Besides, she wanted to spend more time with young Oz. See what made the werewolf tick. She's already figured out what reminded her of Trent, and it had nothing to do with what made him cute, thank any god you care to name. Neither used two words where one would do, and both were a lot more intelligent than they let on.

And of course, they were also both musicians.

The werewolf thing didn't bother her overmuch. Hell, what was one more quirk? The world seemed to be full of them.

"Good," Amy said. "Because I wasn't trying to offend you. Even if we were the best of friends, it might get boring being cooped up with the same person for a while."

"I assume you can't teach me anything while you're driving?"

"Not much," Oz said. "Nothing that can't wait."

"Oz is going to try to teach me how to deal with my rage," Daria said. "In a way that doesn't involving hurting people or property."

"Where's the fun in that?" Jane asked.

X X X X X

Jane volunteered to ride with Oz. Not too damn surprising, considering she'd made her interest pretty damned plain. Oz, for his part, hadn't shown anything one way or the other, but that didn't mean anything. It had taken him months to be able to approach Red, for crying out loud. Jane was decidedly more aggressive.

Seemed like the wrong time, and if anything was proof that she wasn't Faith that would be it; the only "wrong time" for Faith was literally in the middle of a fight; but if it kept Jane happy, then as long as it didn't throw any more obstacles in their way Daria officially didn't give a good goddamn.

Daria called Doc Vaughn on the way out of the restaurant and left a message, then called Willow again as they left Scottsburg.

"Linda Griffin," Willow said, "isn't a very nice woman. Everything I've been able to find about the woman - including some settled lawsuits and bulletin board bitching by disgruntled former employees - says that this is someone who's pretty much willing to step on anyone she can to make it to the top, and willing to do whatever it takes to get there - stabbing people in the back, sleeping around, betraying her coworkers, and her actual job, which everyone has to admit she's pretty good at."

"Any supernatural connection?"

"Nothing I can see, and I dug pretty deep," Willow said. "But based on my reading of her personality, oh yeah is she the kind of person who'd be willing to work for a Big Bad to get more power. And it doesn't come much bigger or badder than the First. And anyway, we have definite proof."

"Proof of what?" Daria asked.

"Oh! Proof that she's one of the bad guys. One of the ones after you, I mean."

"And you couldn't have led with that?"

"Hey!" Willow said with indignation Daria wasn't entirely sure was faked. "Who's doing who a favor, missy?" After a second, she said, "But, you know those photographers who're following you? Yeah, the ones who use digital have been sending their photos to an email address that ultimately ends up belong to, yes, you guessed it, Linda Griffin. Also, the Lexington police have a half-decent description of you as someone "of interest" though they're not saying you need to be arrested. You want me to do something about that? Suppress it?"

"No," Daria said. "Too many people would have seen it by now. Change the description, if they don't know they're looking for me. Make me a little taller and my hair a little redder and my eyes green."

"I can do that," Willow said. "What do you want me to do about Linda Griffin? Same thing we did with Tommy Sherman?"

"No. Better the enemy we know than one we don't," Daria said. "We've gone from a lunkhead to a Machiavelli. At this point, she doesn't know we know about her. Let's keep it that way." After a second, "Where does she encouraging people to take pictures of me?"

"All over," Willow said. "A couple of dozen different websites."

"Get rid of some of them. The more popular ones. Yes, some people'll already have the contact info, but you never know what might help."

"Will do," Willow said.

"One more thing."

"Yes?"

"Thank you," Daria said sincerely. "This would be a lot harder without your help."

"You're welcome," Willow said. "And, you know, you're fighting ultimate evil here so I feel kind of obligated."

"Still."

"Still."

An hour or so after she hung up with Willow, they were hitting rush hour traffic in all of its glory as they passed a place called Edinburgh, still in Indiana. For all Daria knew, they'd somehow ended up in Scotland.

On second thought, no. She wouldn't be that lucky.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Amy said.

"Let me see the color of your money," Daria said.

"My purse is in the back seat," Amy said.

"I can wait." After a second, "Or I have a shiny nickel here for yours." Aunt Amy had been dancing around saying something she obviously thought was pretty fucking important, but hadn't quite been able to bring herself to ask it, for some reason.

"And the color of your - oh." She stopped as Daria dug the five-cent piece out of her front left pocket and was holding it where her aunt could glance at it and get right back to driving. "Not going to get caught by your own joke, eh?"

"Not too often," Daria said, depositing the nickel into one of Aunt Amy's cup holders. "So, there's the nickel."

"I was wondering," her aunt said after a minute or so of silence. "Why the First Evil thought that seeing Richard Wilkins would bother you."

"Ah." Was she ready to tell her aunt?

Not now.

Possibly not ever.

She would trust almost anyone else on the planet with this secret, and it was something of an open one considering how many people actually knew about it; but to her aunt, knowing that Faith was still around in any capacity would change things.

Amy Barksdale was one of the few people for whom it would change almost everything. She was also one of the few people who could probably get Daria committed, were she so inclined.

Daria couldn't risk that now. No damn way.

"Ah?"

"Ah, as in, ah, I can see why that would bother you. You have to remember: I have all of Faith's memories as well. The only day I block out is April 10, 1997, and you know why. Everything Faith did, everyone Faith knew, I remember. The emotional connection, that's a different story."

"So you remember killing those people?"

"Yes. Don't remind me. That isn't who I am, any more." And that would be true whether they were talking about Faith or Daria Faith. Or Daria Lynn, for that matter.

She had committed – murder? But that was in another lifetime.

And besides, the wench was dead. 


	21. Jane Said to Oz, Kill Me a B'ar

And we pick up right where we left off.

X X X X X

Amy Barksdale said, "I believe you."

"You say that as though there were some doubt," Daria said.

"No doubt; it's a legitimate explanation. It's just one I hadn't thought of."

"Well," Daria said. "The First clearly thought I had an emotional connection to the man beyond disgust and loathing. It was wrong."

There was palpable disgust in her niece's voice. Whatever else, Amy believed that her loathing for Richard Wilkins was genuine.

"I thought we'd moved past that," Daria said.

"Are you upset?"

"No, I guess I expected it, or something like it. I suppose you'll always worry that Faith is somewhere around."

"I will, but -"

"She is."

"What?"

"In a way," Daria said. "After the 'adventure' with Glorificus, I legally had my name changed from Daria Lynn Morgendorffer to Daria Faith Morgendorffer. My little tribute, I guess."

Inwardly, Amy breathed a sigh of relief. If Faith was still around -

Well, she wouldn't do anything right now, even if Faith showed up right in front of her. Daria was being chased by the manifestation of ultimate evil. Decidedly not the time to make any major life decisions -

No. Scratch that. She'd said she wouldn't, and she would live up to her word. Her niece would live her life from here on, whatever that life was, however much Amy happened to disapprove. She might argue, discuss, or cajole, but force of any sort was out.

"I see," Amy said. "Interesting choice."

"I thought so," Daria said.

A few minutes of silence, and Amy said, "I'm sorry. This made you uncomfortable."

"Not uncomfortable, exactly. Just aware that, no matter how much we may reconcile, there will always be that between us. Neither forgiving nor forgetting is apparently an option. But I still want to move past it as best as we can. Can we agree not to talk about the subject, ever again?"

"Barring extraordinary circumstances, yes," Amy said.

"I suppose a universal is unreasonable. 'Barring extraordinary circumstances' it is."

"So let's change the subject," Daria said. "Write anything good lately?"

"Let's just say that if it's true crime and Ann Rule hasn't already staked it out, I'm apparently the go-to gal, now," Amy said. Which was true. She was in the middle of a story about a family of con artists in Florida, and another about a bizarre "murder of passion" in Maryland involving a local politician on the outskirts – it was his sister who was supposedly the killer.

Not her lifelong dream, but certainly a decent step down. And certainly, it offered her a great opportunity to see humanity at its finest.

She wouldn't touch serial/spree killer cases. For obvious reasons.

So they talked about her work, and Daria offered that she'd always intended to be a writer herself. "I had a cold war spy homage-slash-parody in mind, though I'm going to have to change the name of my agent."

"What was it?"

"Melody Powers."

"Nothing wrong with Melody," Amy said.

"No. But Powers? I don't want people reading my work and thinking of Mike Myers, in any capacity. My parody's a damn sight more sophisticated and subtle than that."

Amy snorted. She should have gotten that.

Faith behind them, they kept talking.

X X X X X

Linda Griffin frowned. Just before pulling out of Lexington at around 5 o'clock, she'd checked online one last time. A lot of her postings online had somehow disappeared, for various reasons. Not all of them. But enough to make her suspicious.

Daria Morgendorffer was no computer genius, and in any event wouldn't have had the time to do anything, anyway. But someone out there was deleting Linda's postings online, on Ms. Morgendorffer's behalf.

This would not do. This would not do at all.

In the few minutes she'd had, she'd restored a couple of her postings, and then had called a computer expert she knew and, with promises of big bucks to come, had tasked him to track down whoever had been responsible – and stop them if possible, but in any event to somehow get Linda the information.

By phone. Not computer. From now on she had to assume her computer was being watched at all times.

She would pretend otherwise, of course. The best way to deal with a spy, when you know you have one, is to feed them false information. So the next time she went online, she would change tactics and give the ally several false trails to follow, and fake attacks to guard against.

Let them wonder which, if any, was real.

In the meantime, she had gotten a couple of photos of Ms. Morgendorffer and her friends sitting at a pizza place somewhere in Indiana. They were heading north, for some reason, and not west; why, Linda neither knew nor cared, except that it gave her more time to catch and pursue.

Perhaps they thought they would be safe in Canada. If so, Linda would soon disabuse them of that notion.

There were some Bringers in that area of Indiana. Wherever they happened to stop for the night, there would be at least one Bringer there, ready to harass and attack them. Linda very much doubted that they would allow one of their vehicles to have its tires flattened, again, but she had instructed all the Bringers to do so, if given the opportunity.

The next ambush – and there would be one – would have to be handled more cleverly. That would be her topic of thought as she drove through Kentucky and Indiana, with over thirty Bringers packed into a U-Haul.

In the meantime. Hmmm.

There was nothing saying that Bringers should be the only ones hunting Ms. Morgendorffer. Alas, she knew no assassins.

But perhaps she could.

Oh, yes. That would be perfect. Expect a Bringer, get a human assassin, someone who would be delighted to stand back at several hundred yards and shoot.

She would never see that coming.

Perfect.

X X X X X

They'd pulled clear of Indianapolis a bit past 7 PM; they were now on interstate 70, headed west.

The ultimate destination was Los Angeles, to Angel Investigations. That was fine by Oz. His breakup with Willow was as amiable as it came. He still had problems with Tara.

Problems he would never get over, and that were not her fault. He no longer feared the wolf would come out, but he would be hostile to her; and she had not earned. So for her, but mainly for Willow, he would stay away from Sunnydale unless he had no other choice.

He'd had no problem coming to Daria's aid. He would have done it had anyone from his time in Sunnydale asked. Even Cordelia. Willow had made it a guarantee, of course.

He still loved her. Always would. Not because "wolves mate for life," which some studies showed they didn't, but just because.

Still. He had given up hope that the romance would ever be rekindled. (Rationally given it up, anyway. A part of him would always irrationally hope. As long it never expressed itself, things should be fine.)

That didn't necessarily mean he was in the mood for another relationship. Certainly nothing casual. Oz wasn't a casual guy.

Jane Lane, next to him, had done some flirting. Attractive girl. Smart, if not book-smart. Weird. He liked weird. It wasn't an insult. Outside the mainstream had always been good, to him.

But, he suspected, she was more casual than he was.

So he wasn't shooting her down. But he wasn't encouraging her, either. The conversation was fun, even if she was doing most of it. She wasn't a babbler, like Willow; she was perfectly capable of long stretches of silence. But still, compared to him?

Of course, he'd been told, granite monuments were garrulous, compared to him. So be it. He'd never be a motivational speaker.

A good deal less serious than Daria had been. Of course, she had less to be serious about. And she clearly was taking the situation seriously. She just wasn't on all the time. Which was admirable. Oz knew about intense. Used it himself, when he played guitar. But trying to focus all the time?

It could kill you. Or leave you open to attacks, like those the First was trying for Daria.

The reason he was here. He was sure of it. She kept her emotions bottled up, most of the time. Vented through sarcasm. A noble outlet, to be sure. But the kind of rage she had could not be dealt with by sarcasm. It had to be controlled. Not suppressed, but not vented either. Simply venting your anger made you angrier. Studies had been done. What was needed was channeling. Which Daria was doing to some extent with the sarcasm. But she had to find another way, or the rage would cripple her.

Calming techniques would help. But here, they would be a pill for a sinus infection: It would treat the symptoms, not the cause.

It would not be easy. Anything that could produce Faith, out of Daria, would not be easy to deal with.

But it had to be done, or Daria would never get a good night's sleep again.

"Well?" Jane asked.

He'd been reflecting and hadn't heard anything Jane said. Hadn't thought she'd anything. So: "I'm sorry, I didn't hear the question."

Jane snapped her fingers theatrically. "Damn."

"Damn?" Oz asked.

"Yeah. I was hoping you'd instinctively say yes or no, and then I could tell you that you'd just agreed to haul my garbage for three weeks, or kill me a b'ar, or be a roadie for my brother's band. But you foiled my evil plan. Curse you. Curse you, I say!"

Oz chuckled. "Or tell me I'd just agreed to take you on a date?"

"No," Jane said firmly. "I prefer any man I might date to go into things with eyes wide open." That came across as sincere, but also as a challenge. That possibly not everyone could handle her, but inviting Oz to maybe give it a shot, if he was interested.

Jane worked quickly. Oz preferred to take things slowly, if indeed there was something to take. Oz couldn't tell yet.

Jane wasn't intimidated by his being a werewolf; but she wasn't excited by it, either. She'd asked some questions about his lycanthropy, including a couple that were fairly probing, and had taken "I don't talk about that" for an answer. Though she'd promised to keep probing at a later date, if given the opportunity.

It was possible. Possible enough that he wasn't going to say no.

After a second, Jane added, "Besides, I've always wanted me a b'ar. Could you handle a b'ar?"

"Backed one off, once," Jane said.

Jane's eyebrows rose. "Really. I was kidding."

"I'm not," he said. "Young male. Probably weighed only a little more than I do. Backed him off. Wouldn't have tried it with a bigger male, with a grizzly, or with a female with cubs, any species. The wolf is strong and tough, not indestructible."

"So that's no on the b'ar?"

Oz smiled. "Not unless I have no choice. I don't like to pick fights."

"Ah well," Jane said. "I can't think what I'd do with one right now, anyway."

"A rug?"

"Do I look like I live in a hunting lodge?"

X X X X X

Daria Morgendorffer and her friends had stopped in Terre Haute, Indiana, and had been there for fifteen minutes. Linda and her Bringers were four hours behind them, but this would let them close.

There were two Bringers, one within a mile, one five miles away. Linda directed them both to close and attack if they got the chance.

Every little bit helped, while she waited to see if she could get in touch with any assassins.

Done, she got back on the phone with her husband.

"I know I've been away longer than I said. Don't you say that about our boys. I am so proud of them. I've taught them everything I know."

X X X X X

They got to Terre Haute sometime past 9 PM, and had a late dinner at a local Chinese place.

"I have an idea you might not like," Amy said to Jane and Oz.

"I think it's a good one," Daria said. She and Aunt Amy had spent a while hashing out, case Jane and Oz screamed bloody blue murder about it. Didn't think they would, but it was better to anticipate trouble that didn't happen than not be ready for it when it did.

"Lay it on us," Jane said.

"I think we should keep going," Daria said.

"I presume the alternative is not a last stand," Oz said.

In the background, the female member of a couple was pointing and gesturing towards Daria excitedly.

While waiting for the couple to make their move, Daria said, "No. The alternative is to find a place to spend the night."

"We go all night," Amy said. "We sleep shifts. Assuming you'll let someone else drive the van, Oz."

"Of course," Oz said.

"The problem is, of course, is that the vehicle I drive is currently stashed in the back of Oz's van. I can't drive either one."

"So by tomorrow morning the only one fully rested would be you?" Jane said.

"Remember what happened the last time I fell asleep," Daria said. It ain't exactly like she was eager to repeat the experience.

"Right. So tomorrow morning we'd all be exhausted."

"But I figure by noon or so we can get us all the equivalent of a half-decent night's sleep," Amy said.

"This way, we get to stay ahead of that Bringer army I fought in Lexington," Daria said. "It is a tradeoff. But this way is likely to get fewer people killed."

"Unless we run off the road because one of us fell asleep at the wheel," Jane said. When met by twin glares from Amy and Daria, Jane muttered, "I think I liked it better when the two of you weren't on such good terms."

"I didn't," Daria said flatly.

"I'm going to have to ask for a modification," Oz said.

"Why?" Daria said.

"You need to start learning to defend yourself against the First," Oz said. "I was hoping for a couple of uninterrupted hours. A half hour, minimum. Or the next time you fall asleep, he'll do the same thing as –"

Flash!

Out of the corner of her eye, Daria had been watching their not-particularly-friendly neighborhood paparazzi. Just before the woman took the shot of them sitting here, Daria had grabbed Jane's egg roll and flung it in their direction, hitting the camera just as the picture was being taken. The couple got a wonderful closeup of the restaurant ceiling before dropping the camera, which broke apart when it crashed into the tile floor.

"Hey!" the man said. Beefy, irritable, he looked like the kind to cause trouble. "You broke my camera!"

"Hey yourself," Daria said, standing up. "You took my picture without asking."

"Yeah? You're famous. I can do that you got no call to complain. And now you owe me a camera."

Daria'd already looked around. The restaurant had no security cameras and there were only a couple of occupied tables, not surprising for late on a Monday night. "I don't see why it's my fault you dropped your camera."

"You broke it! I got witnesses!"

Amy took up the cause. "Your wife." The woman in question was standing over the remnants of the camera, looking annoyed but also slightly embarrassed. "Who would be biased on your behalf. Hard to get a trial going that way."

"And none of the rest of us are famous," Oz said.

"So please," Daria said. "Take the loss of your camera as an object lesson and move on."

"Or-?"

"Or," Daria said evenly, "I could take what's left of your camera and feed it to you. Your choice. But I don't think the camera has much in the way of nutritional value."

For a second, Daria thought she might have to do exactly that; but the man said, "C'mon, Rosey. It's not worth it," and stormed out of the restaurant.

The woman, the broken camera in her hand, walked after him.

"I suggest we not do it here," Daria said.

"I agree," Oz said. "Slightly down the road. If we're all okay with driving all night."

Amy and Daria were, of course, and obviously Oz was as well. Which left – "Jane?"

"You owe me an egg roll," Jane said.

"And I owe Aunt Amy a statue."

"So it's going to be a while."

"Quite possibly."

"So," Daria said, "Are you okay with driving all night?"

"As long as I don't have to be awake at dawn, sure," Jane said. "I'm used to staying up lat—"

Jane stopped because screams were coming from the parking lot. "Oz?" Daria said.

"Let's go," the werewolf said tersely.

Leaving Amy and Jane behind, Daria and Oz raced to the parking lot.

A Bringer was stalking through the parking lot and turned towards them when they opened the door.

Of course.


	22. Wolf and Elephant

The screams had come from beefy guy and his wife; 'course, Daria could hardly blame them, with the eyeless robed guy with a long knife walking around waving it at people.

He'd been headed for Amy's car, but on seeing Daria and Oz had turned towards them. It was like his orders were: "Go after Daria, slash tires, and scare people," in that order of importance. It was a good thing no one had tossed in "Go after her friends."

That sure as shit would have pissed her off. But maybe not to the level the First needed.

Maybe they just hadn't thought of it yet. Daria felt under no obligation to clue them in.

"You got it?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, letting Faith out for a second. "You take care of the screaming meemies over there. I'll handle tall, pale, and eyeless."

As Oz moved over to herd the screaming couple towards their cars and away from the incipient melee, Daria jumped off the steps - the restaurant was in a converted house - and landed on the Bringer as he charged. Damn, it was good to have the high ground.

The Bringer raised his knife but didn't have the time to get it more than halfway up before Daria landed on him. As she rode him to the pavement, her first order of business was to twist the knife out of the bastard's grip. It was out of his hand before they hit, skittering maybe a few feet away. Within range of a dramatic reach, if Daria planned on giving the Bringer time to make one.

She wasn't, of course. The objective in a fight? Win. There are no cameras you're making it look good for.

This Bringer knew that too. Unfortunately. He was either a better dirty fighter or more desperate than most, because he didn't waste time trying to throw her off.

Instead, he bit her on the neck. This wasn't a shock bite, supposed to make her let him go; he was trying to rip her neck open.

Daria caught him in the side of the jaw with her right hand once, as hard as she could. He let go but wasn't knocked out until Daria slammed his head once against the gravel surface of the parking lot.

Shit, that was closer than she would have liked.

Looking up, she saw that Oz had gotten the witnesses into their car; they took off like the Bringer was on the roof of their car and they wanted to shake him off.

Daria picked up the knife and tossed it across the street into a field; she didn't hear it land. Then she asked the approaching Oz, "Anyone coming?"

Knowing that she didn't just mean "Can you see anyone," Oz looked, sniffed, and listened. "No one in range."

"Good." She picked up the Bringer and heaved it into the dumpster behind the building.

Amy and Jane were out of the restaurant when Daria returned. "Everything good inside?"

"We paid," Amy said. "But you had spectators."

"At least one of whom rushed back to call someone," Jane murmured. "I don't think it was his mommy."

"So, we leave?" Oz said.

Daria sighed. "We leave. But I think this proves my point that we need to keep moving. We've been here for 45 minutes and get attacked by a Bringer."

"Be useful if we knew where they were," Jane said.

Daria stopped. Shit. She should've fucking thought of that. Another thing to ask Willow for. When this was done she would have to bake her a cake. Or something. "Good idea," she said. "Another task to set for deus ex Rosenberg."

"Sorry?" Oz asked quizzically.

"My new nickname for Willow. Because it seems I'm continually asking her to be the god in our machine. Not that I have a problem calling her for help if I need it. The object here is to stay alive, not to maintain my pride in doing everything myself and to hell with everyone else." She was very careful to say the last part evenly. "I just don't want to presume."

Chuckling for a second, Oz said, "Willow'll tell you if she thinks you're imposing. Don't worry."

Good to know. "Thanks." She listened for sirens. Hearing none, she said, "And now we need to leave before the nice men in the blue uniforms show up."

"What do you have against the postal service?" Jane asked.

"Funny, Lane."

"I do try."

X X X X X

The First, in the In-Dark, watched as another one of its followers was beaten by Daria Morgendorffer. So far, Linda Griffin's plans had come to nothing; but she was still thinking, refusing to give up, which was good. She had earned more leeway than Tommy Sherman ever had, despite her failure.

This concept of human assassins she had had was a good one. The First appeared in front of a representative of the Order of Taraka and, after assuring her that the Slayer to be killed was not the one in Sunnydale – they had sworn a moratorium on attempts on Buffy Summers' life after three of their number had been sent there a couple of years ago, and only one had returned – they agreed to contact Linda Griffin and discuss the details.

In the meantime, the First was planning how to invade the Slayer's dreams. Being so obvious would not work. It would have to try to insinuate itself into a dream that was already occurring, and subtly alter it to bring forth the rage.

Rage would mentally cripple the Slayer. It would render her incapable of interfering with the events that needed to happen, in ten months' time. Its own best predictions of the time to come indicated that this death would be its last real chance in decades to force the gate further open; to bring forth the army of Turok-Han that waited, idle and frustrated, underneath the Sunnydale Hellmouth.

Humanity would be scourged from the world. Not completely, of course. Turok-Han had to feed on something.

Caleb would then be given charge of the army. Linda Griffin, who had asked for power over her fellow humans, would be left in charge of the survivors.

The First was Evil. Literally. But Evil did not mean it did not comprehend loyalty, or reward followers for jobs well done.

The Earth would merely by first, of course. There were other dimensions. Pylea. Quart'toth. They, too, would fall, once this one had.

And the chance to do so hinged on preventing Daria Morgendorffer from ever reaching Sunnydale.

She was approximately one third of the way there. Her companions believed they were going to Los Angeles. If this was true, if this was not a deception attempted by the Slayer, it was still too close for the First to remain truly comfortable.

The Slayer had to die or be rendered incapable before she reached the state of California.

That gave them, by its best estimate, three days.

It would amass Bringers at the state line. Should she make it that far, it would discard the notion of subtlety and simply attack her and her friends with all of the people and weapons at its disposal. Assassins, Bringers, whomever. It would even instruct Caleb to make his way there, with all of the Bringers he could pack onto an airplane.

Not yet. But soon.

Daria Morgendorffer would not, would never, reach Sunnydale.

X X X X X

Daria hung up with Willow. "That one was easy, at least," she said to Jane.

"About damn time," Jane said. "What was easy?"

"Willow's kept hide or hair of practically everything B ever killed. That includes some of the First's followers from a couple of years ago. When I asked her why, her response was, 'Why not? Plus, you know, you need it now, so lay off on the commenting that I'm weird.' In any event, with that, she can whip up a tracking spell that should give me some idea of when we're approaching an area with Bringers within a couple of miles. The First has thousands of the bastards, but they can't literally be everywhere."

"For one thing, none of the rest of us would be able to move or breathe."

"Right now that strikes me as a good idea. For some of us, anyway."

Jane simply flashed an angelic, "who me?" smile. As angelic as she could get, anyway. Which wasn't very.

Daria wasn't buying it anyway.

X X X X X

When they pulled over a half or so after calmly roaring out of the Joe's Chinese parking lot, they'd mate it to Illinois, though not by much. A small airport lay in the distance, but they were in a park – a manicured one with swingsets, not one with "lots of rampaging nature," as Jane had put it.

Oz looked slightly wistful at that, but he had other things on his mind.

Before Oz and Daria had settled down in the middle of the lawn to begin their magic anger management classes – another Jane Lane original phrasing, and one Daria hadn't like, which guaranteed that Jane would use it as often as possible – Oz had stressed that it would be best not to be interrupted for anything trivial, and Daria had stressed. "You know. Like if an army of Bringers shows up. Or a dozen vampires. Or the ice cream man."

"Daria," Oz said calmly.

"Okay," Daria had conceded. "If the vampires come, you're on your own."

"Gee thanks. I'll make sure I kill you first once they make me into one of their legions of the undead."

"I believe that's exactly what friends are for." Daria had said with a slight smile.

So, while Oz taught Daria, Jane and Amy stayed in the van. Once they left here, Amy was going to be sacking out first, until a bit after midnight.

"I bet we could fit a nice mattress in the back of this thing," she said.

Jane looked at her. "Do you want to tell Daria we kicked her bike out, or should I?"

"You. Definitely."

"Thank you, no," Jane said. "I like my arms and legs exactly where they are, thank you."

"Well, I'm certainly not going to do it," Amy said. "I need my fingers for writing."

"Then I guess we're sleeping sitting up," Jane said, then shrugged. "Not like I don't have experience in that, anyway."

"School?"

"Among other things."

After a few minutes of quiet, Amy pointed to Oz and Daria, who were doing exercises underneath a tree. "I wonder what they're doing."

"Want to go ask?"

"And once again, I need my fingers for writing."

"Yeah, but you have ten of them. Surely you can spare one or two . . .?"

The glare on Amy Barksdale's face was all the answer Jane needed.

X X X X X

"I don't get this," Daria said quietly.

"Not what you were expecting?" Oz said.

"No. I was expecting to sit in the lotus position and chant. Not calisthenics."

"It isn't calisthenics," Oz said. "It's tai chi."

"I've seen tai chi. It doesn't usually involve kicks and strikes." She remembered Faith seeing Angel doing it a couple of times. Graceful and controlled. Graceful might have described Faith, but controlled? Faith was controlled like a runaway train was controlled.

"That's the Westernized version. The original version – and there are a lot of them, I'm just teaching you the basics – involves actual martial arts as well. I thought, Slayers, martial arts. It fit."

"And you're an expert after a bit over a year?" Daria continued doing the exercises.

"Expert? No. Hardly. Pretty good. It and the herbs keep my wolf at bay unless I want to let it out. Thought it might do the same for you."

"I don't have a wolf."

"You kind of do."

Continuing to move per Oz's directions, Daria said, "No. It's not a wolf. It's an elephant. An invisible elephant, in the room, that I know how to avoid, but is still definitely there. And if provoked –"

"The elephant can stomp you flat," Oz said. "Excellent metaphor."

"Not just me. Other people, too. And I will be damned before I hurt someone else again."

"Again?"

"Counting my time as just Faith, yeah. Never hurt anyone as Daria who didn't have it coming."

"Speaking of the elephant," Oz said.

"Yes?" Daria asked flatly.

"Talk to that psychiatrist who's been helping you."

"Doc Vaughn."

"Yes. She may have something to say about whether you should confront the memory head-on or continue to suppress it."

"I'd prefer to suppress it," Daria said.

"I know. And that may be best. I'm not a psychiatric expert. Wouldn't pretend to be. But my thinking is this: The First wants to confront you with what happened that day to make you wildly, irrationally angry. What better way to defeat it than to be able to not become angry?"

"If I ever get to the point where viewing my parents' deaths doesn't make me angry, Buffy'd better ready to take me down again. Because I would have gone well off the deep end."

Oz nodded. "Point. Then let me rephrase."

"Never mind. I think I know what you meant. And I'm not offended."

A couple of minutes of silence and Oz asked, "Do you think you're getting anything from this?"

"No real way to tell. It feels calming. But I won't know if it works until the First tries to run me through the wringer again."

"Let me know."

"I will. You and Doc Vaughn both. And Oz?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. This was a good idea and I appreciate the thought." She did, whether it worked or not. It was certainly worth a try.

"You're welcome."

The exercise continued.

X X X X X

Daria was walking through her high school. Beavis and Butthead were trying to catch her attention for some reason. She had no idea why. They were talking like themselves, but in a Shakespearean fashion.

It made no sense, but they rarely did.

She walked outside; they followed her. It was night.

Night?

Yes.

She turned around and said, "Isn't that that guy you hate? Mr. Hardball?"

They ran.

Hardball came up to her, menacing, with a gun in a hand. "Aren't you afraid of me?"

"I should be, but I'm not."

"That'll change. You'll hate me too. The Hills hated me."

Who were the Hills? Daria'd heard that name before.

"I don't hate you. Yet."

"Give it time."

"No, I have a book to get to."

And then they were in her living room and Mr. Hardball had Mom on the floor at gunpoint. "Rock, paper, scissors, right?"

And as she thought, this wasn't the way it happened, her conscious mind broke through and thought, shit! It's doing it again!

Before "Mr. Hardball" could say another word, she pinched herself and woke up, jolting awake in the car, next to Jane.

"Amiga?" Jane murmured. "What's wrong?"

Anger rose.

X X X X X

NOTE: I am not an expert on tai chi, either kind. I've researched it, but that's not the same thing as practicing it, which I don't and won't pretend to. I was looking up methods of 'anger management' Oz might use and nonwestern Tai Chi seemed to fit the bill. Apologies for any errors I may make. I'm not planning to get too descriptive, after this first time.

And "Mr. Hardball" is made up, of course, and is not intended to be a specific Highland denizen.


	23. Dreams of Glory

"Stop the car as soon as you can," Daria said to Jane while gritting her teeth.

"What?" Jane asked.

"Next exit. Pull off. Park as soon as you can."

"Dream?"

"Dream."

"Pulling off," Jane said. She was in the lead, so Oz, driving the van behind them, would follow them off. They'd planned for this to happen. "You going to be okay, amiga?"

"I fucking well plan to be," Daria said.

An exit ahead leading to a place called "St. Elmo." Jane pulled off and there was a convenience store with a large parking lot sitting directly off of 70. Definitely good enough. She turned right and took the first available spot. Daria was out of the car before Jane had even set the brakes. She stopped, took a couple of deep breaths, and began the tai chi routine she and Oz had done a couple of hours previously.

Oz parked the van, got out, and walked over quickly, getting to Daria before Jane could. "Not like you're attacking a vampire," he said.

"Back off, wolfboy," Daria growled. "I'm doing the best I can."

"I know. Control. Control is what you need."

"I'm," punch, "working on it."

Daria's impromptu workout was drawing stares. "Okay folks," Jane said crisply. "Nothing to see here. Move along."

This was ridiculous on the face of it, but no one was reaching for either their cameras on their cell phones. A few people gawked; most gave dirty, disgusted, or confused looks before getting into their cars and driving off.

Oz stayed next to Daria, coaching her despite her obvious irritation at his presence. Oz wasn't taking it personally, which was good, because Jane was fairly sure didn't mean it personally. Daria, like Jane, might not have that good an opinion of most of her fellow man, but she had no cause to be irritated at Oz.

After about five minutes, Daria's punches and kicks looked a lot less like they would go through brick walls if they were put in front of her, though Jane sure as hell wasn't volunteering to test the theory. "Better?" Oz asked.

"Better," Daria said.

"Think it helped?"

"I know it did," Daria said, slowing down. "It took me a lot longer to calm down this much the last time this happened." She still sounded angry, but more within normal levels and less likely to literally rip someone's head off. "How's Aunt Amy?" she asked.

Walking over to the side of Oz's van, Jane looked in. Amy Barksdale was still asleep. Good. Less to explain.

One of the things that concerned Jane, and probably Daria as well, was if in one of these fits of anger Daria started uncontrollably sounding like Faith. She hadn't yet, but apparently we hadn't seen Daria in the middle of a full-blown attack yet, either.

That made Jane nervous. So far Daria had looked like she was ready to kill the next person to look at her funny. What she'd be like after a full assault, Jane didn't know. Yeah, Daria had told them, but there was a difference between being told, and knowing. And Jane was pretty sure this, along with algebra, was something she didn't want to know.

But it might be something she'd have to deal with. Then she'd deal with it. She'd dealt with drunken rampages, drug highs, and at least once an overdose – mostly from hanging in and around with Spiral – so she'd deal with this, too.

Jane had met damned few people on her life worth being genuinely loyal to. Trent and Daria topped that list.

The workout routine seemed to be winding down. Good. Jane walked over and said, "Everything good?"

"No," Daria said irritably, but without much of the anger that'd been in her earlier words. "If everything were good, I wouldn't have to be doing a tai chi routine in the middle of a parking lot."

"Point," Jane said. "And you know damn well what I mean, amiga."

A small smile from Daria. "I do. And I may even appreciate it. When I'm not ready to punch my way through steel plating."

Jane returned the smile. "Damn, so that's never, then?"

"I didn't say that."

"You're better," Oz said.

"Thank you, Dr. Osbourne. Tell me, is the patient going to make it?" Daria asked.

Oz ignored this and said, "We should get going. Someone's probably called the police already."

"Stop in –" Jane checked the time – "About an hour and a quarter?"

"That works."

X X X X X

Daria fell asleep again almost immediately, and started dreaming fairly soon. Of course, in a dream her sense of time was skewed. So possibly it was 3 AM by the time she figured out what was going on.

She was able to think during this one. So she could wake herself up at any time –

And would. You didn't remember dreams you didn't wake up during, even if you only woke up for a second or two. It was one of the few real ways most nonmagical people could predict the future. She was conscious, so she'd wake up.

Therefore, the First was probably about to fuck with her again.

The First had clearly learned from the first time it had tried to influence her in its dreams. It was being subtle. In the last dream she hadn't figured out what had happened until "Mr. Hardball" had pointed the gun at her mother. She figured it'd try something like the same trick this time around, too.

This time, the second things started remotely looking like they were in Highland, or their house there, or if Beavis and Butthead showed up again, she could cut things off before they went to hell.

She suspected she wouldn't be getting a solid night's sleep until things were settled one way or the other. The First didn't indulge itself in lifelong vendettas. Once B and Angel'd managed to live through its plans to get one of them killed a couple of Christmases back, he'd given up on them.

Another reason for assuming it wasn't an omnipresent, omnipotent entity: It would keep harassing every one of the good guys until they gave in or gave up, if it was. Since the First as occupied with giving her a hard time, it probably wasn't screwing with any other forces of good anywhere in the world. So she was doing some good. Not that she wouldn't rather things have gone like she initially planned, and simply be driving across the country with Jane in a sidecar.

Or the Incredible Hulk in a bad mood.

Or, shit, pretty much anyone.

The dream in front of her appeared to be one set in prison, although there was easy egress to the outside world. While she was thinking, she was moving along with the storyline, such as it was. Right now she was leaving the courtyard (exercise time) and wandering through only vaguely familiar corridors until she got to the prison library.

The books were out of focus. If she concentrated she could make out titles, but that was about it. Typical for dreams. She'd heard you couldn't read in dreams, and had never been able to make out anything coherent beyond a few words, here and there. The librarian told her to pick out a book or the "guardsmen" would come for her, so she grabbed one and walked to a seat.

She looked at the cover of the book and it seemed familiar. Focusing, she could see the word -

_April_.

Oh, didn't the First think it was being fucking clever. It was time to take control of the dream.

Instead of reading the book, she closed it, threw it to one side - ignored the librarian who was now her school librarian, who Daria had actually liked - and yelled up. "Nice try, First! It's not going to work this time either!"

Spike walked into the room, turned to the librarian and said, "Easy, love. I got this one," and walked over to Daria. "It ain't, huh?"

"No. It ain't. I give you points for subtlety, but I'm not going to fall for it this time."

It smiled. "Not going to fall for it? Bleeding hell, love, it doesn't bother me if you don't fall for this one. You'll fall for another one. I'll get my way."

"Or, just maybe, not."

"Do you know what you're fucking dealing with?"

"Right now, someone doing a bad Spike imitation," Daria said. "And by the way. You owe me a hint."

It laughed. "Right. I do. You left before I could give it to you. And I do a damned good Spike imitation, thank you."

"Go on telling yourself that."

"I will, thanks."

And we know how much I hate to make a dramatic exit," Daria said. "Note that I don't actually expect you to keep 'your word,' such as it is. But I'd like the hint, please.

"Right then," it said, and metamorphosed into Glory. "You being there messed up my plans, chica," it said. "She was supposed to die in Sunnydale."

"Glory dying in Lawndale screwed you up?"

"Hey, I promised you a hint, and you got your hint. I never said it had to make sense to you."

"Of course. Because you're evil."

"Well, big freakin' duh."

"Thanks for the memories," Daria said, and pinched herself.

She was still riding with Jane.

"Do I need to pull over again?" Jane asked.

"No. I pulled out of the dream before it had a chance to mess with me. And I finally got the hint the First had promised me. It showed up looking like the Hellbitch and said "she was supposed to die in Sunnydale." Assuming it wasn't just yanking my chain - never safe with a bastard who pumps itself up as a manifestation of ultimate evil - then that does mean something. But right now I'm not sure what."

"If you were, I think we'd have to seriously downgrade the First's supervillain status."

"What time is it?"

Well, that was about two hours. Not horrible. (They'd finally remembered that they'd switched time zones as they left the St. Elmo convenience store.)

"How long till the next switchover?" Daria asked.

"Oh, that's not until 2:30 or so."

"Well, then I guess you get to keep me company until then. I'm going to stay awake until the First gets nice and bored."

"You think that'll work?"

"I hope so. It's not going to kill me, it's not going to drive me mad, and it's sure as shit not going to beat me by interrupting my sleep every five minutes." The sign on the interstate said they were passing "Columbia, Missouri." "We're in Missouri, already?"

"Passed around St. Louis about an hour back," Jane said.

"Damn. We should have stopped at the airport for old times' sake."

"No thanks. The last time we were there a group of deranged lunatics tried to kill me." The Knights of Byzantium, thinking that Jane was 'the Key' in human form, had made a stopover in St. Louis into their last, best chance to try to destroy it and prevent Glory from returning to her home plane. The fuckers had tried to kill her several times. She and B and Red had showed them, though.

"And that's different from right now how?" Daria asked.

"This time they're trying to kill you," Jane said.

"Ah. Right."

X X X X X

She wasn't stopping.

Instead of stopping for the night in Terre Haute or somewhere along there, Daria Morgendorffer and her friends were still driving. They were stopping occasionally, but never for more than about fifteen minutes at a time, so Linda and the Bringers with her had made up some time, but not enough. Linda might not have to sleep, but she still had to eat and use the bathroom, and she wasn't like the Bringers, who seemed perfectly satisfied with a couple of buckets.

If they kept this up for a couple of days they'd practically be in California before Linda could catch up to her.

It was time to think outside the box a bit. Linda was past Indianapolis or she might go back there; Terre Haute's airport would be shut tight by this point. She'd probably have to wait till St. Louis.

She called her assistant Chip - never mind that I woke you up, I need you to do something, now - and got him to find a list of charter airlines in or near St. Louis.

"They're asking when you're coming back to the office," he said when he said he'd get back to her within the hour.

"Have I, Chip, or have I not been punctilious in the performance of my duties while I have been on this - sabbatical?" she asked.

"You have - but there's a big meeting with some bigwigs on Thursday morning and you're going to have to be here for it."

Linda rolled her eyes and said, "When Thursday morning, Chip?"

"Um - 11 AM."

That was over two days in the future. "I'll be there," she said. Because by that point everything should be settled one way or the other; Daria Morgendorffer would be dead, or Linda would have failed. In neither case was she likely to care about a meeting with bigwigs. But just in case things happened to end some other way with her not being either dead or in power, she didn't want to burn this bridge.

"Good. I'll call you back within an hour."

He hung up.

She would never catch up to Daria Morgendorffer at this rate - at least, not until it was possibly too late to do any good.

So she would fly ahead of her, instead. It was probably wise to assume that, even with the Bringers in plain clothes, no plane would want three dozen clogging up coach - particularly when their every instinct would be to kill everyone in sight.

Thus, the charter.

After fifteen more minutes - as she was passing through Terre Haute - she got a phone call. She picked it up and said, "Chip. That was -"

"This is not Chip," a voice said. Linda could not tell if it was male or female. "We are from the Order of Taraka. We understand you have business for us."

The Order of - right. Those assassins the First had talked about. They moved quickly. Good. "Yes," she said. "I need you to kill -"

"No details over the phone," the voice said. "We'll have a representative meet you in St. Louis."

"How will I know?"

The voice laughed. "He'll be the one asking you who you want killed." Then they hung up.

Okay, that gave her two things to do in St. Louis.

X X X X X

The being had appeared in front of her, briefly, earlier that evening. It had looked like her dead sister.

It had been there just long enough to convince her that there was a job to be done.

Of course, she was no longer freelance. Now, her services were contracted exclusively to Wolfram & Hart and she could no longer kill anyone for pay they hadn't ordered her to.

Which is why she was going to do this job for free.

She would have done it for free, anyway. She _owed_ this target.

She called in to Wolfram & Hart first. "Lilah Morgan," the woman said.

"Ms. Morgan. You're awake. Good. Do I have any assignments outstanding?"

"No."

"Good. I'd like to request some time to take care of some personal business."

"Personal business?" Lilah asked sharply.

"Yes. It doesn't violate the terms of my contract. No one'll be paying me in any way to do anything."

"Very well," Lilah said. "You have it. But if we need you, come when you're called. No dawdling."

"Understood," she growled.

She hung up and dialed the phone number the entity had given her. A woman picked up. "Chip?"

"No," she said. "Not Chip. I understand you want someone to kill Daria Morgendorffer."

"I do," she said. "Are you with the Order of Taraka?"

Rebecca snorted. "_Them_? Hardly. But something told me tonight that you wanted her dead. I'll do it for free."

"For free?"

"Yes."

"I like that price," the woman said. "I'm Linda. And you are?"

Rebecca said, "Mrs. Kruger."

X X X X X

If you don't remember Mrs. Kruger . . . she's from _April 10, 1997_.


	24. Meanwhile, at the Hall of Justice

This technically becomes a multiple crossover this part, but only as kind of a wink and a nod.

X X X X X

Lilah Morgan hung up her phone. She should have expected this.

It would have required someone considerably blinder than her to realize that the First Evil was making a move of some kind. Investigations had quickly shown that, for whatever reason, it was attempting to kill Daria Morgendorffer.

Their investigations had not shown why, unfortunately.

Wolfram & Hart was evil, but it had no particular truck with the First's brand of evil. Wolfram & Hart wanted to facilitate ruling the world; they didn't really want to _destroy _it. And the best evidence they had on hand indicated that the First, if it succeeded in its ultimate plans, would effectively do exactly that, ruining the plans of the Senior Partners, never mind killing everyone else associated with the company.

So Wolfram & Hart worked against the First whenever it could.

Rebecca Barnstein (AKA Mrs. Kruger) probably thought she was being subtle when she asked for her sabbatical. For her, she was, but while the woman was a talented killer and not stupid, she was annoyingly single-minded when it came to keeping and holding grudges.

She would have gotten in trouble over her attitudes towards Cameron Kim, if Kim hadn't loopholed her way out of her contract. Barnstein had been brutal towards Kim every chance she got, to the point that Kim had been actively avoiding being in the building with Barnstein at every opportunity. With Kim's "escape" - and honestly, Lilah still thought it was funny - the assassin had calmed down and undergone several missions in the interim, killing a number of targets - though she'd still grumbling about it the entire time. Twice they'd caught her attempting to contract out independently, and told her if it happened again, there would be consequences.

And now, right when the order of Taraka was going to try to kill Daria Morgendorffer at the First Evil's behest, Barnstein suddenly has some "personal business" to take care of?

Lilah believed in coincidences. She didn't think _this_ was one of them.

And the official position of the Senior Partners was this: Hands off Daria Morgendorffer. They much preferred the status quo, than to have another Slayer be activated, who would presumably be under the greater control of the Watchers' Council and might possibly be tasked with stopping Wolfram & Hart's plans, specifically.

Lilah could have told all of this to Rebecca Barnstein. Had it been Cameron Kim, she would have, because truth be told, she _liked _Cameron Kim, even now, better than she liked the assassin. Rebecca Barnstein had all of the charm of a sludge demon, and loathed having been forced to work for Wolfram & Hart in the first place. So be it. A lot of beings detested working for the company. The company honestly didn't care as long as private hatreds didn't affect your performance or cause you to betray the company.

This counted. And not only was Lilah not going to warn the woman, she was going to do her best to make sure she failed.

So, she made another phone call. "Angel? Hi . . ."

X X X X X

Angel, Wesley, Gunn and Cameron Kim were finishing up a late celebration of finally having driven Gavin Park out of town - he wouldn't survive Wolfram & Hart's wrath - when the phone rang.

"Angel Investigations," Angel said.

"Angel, hi," an annoyingly familiar voice said.

"Lilah," Angel said sharply. "What do you want?" On hearing the name "Lilah," the celebration died down and Gunn, Wesley and Cameron moved over to listen in.

"Can't one old friend call another old friend just to chat?" she said in that voice of mock innocence that was so annoying.

"Certainly. We're neither. What do you want, Lilah?"

"Well, first I wanted to congratulate you on how _well _you dealt with Gavin. I don't think he's stopped running yet." After a second, "And he'd better not."

"So, are you guys done harassing Cameron Kim?"

"Probably not," Lilah cheerfully admitted. "But that's not the main reason I called."

"Right," Angel said with exaggerated pleasantness. "That bundt cake recipe. Well, gosh darn it, I -"

"Angel," Lilah said, audibly losing patience. "I'm calling to tell you something you'll want to hear. One of our employees has gone off the reservation."

"Oh," Angel said jovially. "You wanted to _hire_ us. That's different. Well, it's $250 per hour plus expenses."

"Are you done?"

"I could go on like this all night."

"Fine," Lilah said huffily. "Then I _won't_ tell you who's trying to kill Daria Morgendorffer."

"The First Evil. We know that already."

"The First Evil, _and_ a current employee," Lilah said. "One with a particular grudge against Daria Morgendorffer."

It took Angel less than five seconds to figure out who. "Mrs. Kruger."

"Got it in one."

"And you're telling me this because . . ?" Angel asked. "I know it's not out of the goodness of your heart. You don't have any of that."

"Of course not. But this way Wolfram & Hart gets rid of a difficult employee without wasting any energy on it ourselves, and you get to protect someone you care about." Lilah said the word 'care" with enough of an edge that Angel could tell she was being sarcastic. "I call that a win-win." After a second, Lilah added, "Look, I'll throw in this one for free. The First didn't just call in Mrs. Kruger. It also contracted the killing out to the Order of Taraka."

"Really."

"Really. Honestly. I'd swear on a stack of Bibles if you could find a Bible anywhere in the building. The Senior Partners want Daria Morgendorffer kept alive for as long as possible. And so do you" One more pause. "Look. Believe me or not, it's up to you. I've done everything I'm going to do." And she hung up and was replaced by a dial tone.

Angel hung up the receiver and turned to Gunn, Wesley and Cameron. "Thoughts?"

"I think she was telling the truth," Cameron said. "I know Lilah. I think I can tell when she's lying or not."

"She's with Wolfram & Hart," Gunn said. "Wouldn't trust them if they said it was safe to cross the street."

"I agree," Angel said. "But – there was something the Doctor said a while back, when she first started consulting with us. The best liars aren't the people who lie all the time; they're the people who pick and choose. Wolfram & Hart've certainly told us the truth in the past, when it was in their best interest."

"And, of course," Wesley said. "There is the simple question of whether this is a risk we can take."

"I get you, English," Gunn said. "But it ain't like they might not be telling the truth and still plan to do something once we all leave town."

"So we don't all leave town," Angel said. "A couple of us go out to run interference, and the rest stay here. And I'm going to have to be one of the ones to stay here. The Order can attack at any time. It won't do Daria any good if I'm stuck in a building when it happens."

"I'll go," Cameron said.

"Thank you. Touch her when you get there," Angel said. "The First Evil can imitate anyone who's died. It can imitate me, or it can imitate you, Buffy, or Spike."

"I'll go as well," Wesley said. "You, Gunn, Cordelia – and Fred, to the extent that she's capable – can stay here and handle any local threats."

"I know she's also been talking to Giles," Angel said. "I think we should call them. See if they want to make this a joint task force."

"You do that," Wesley said. "I'll try to get in touch with Daria or her companions. This is something they should be informed of as soon as possible."

X X X X X

Fortunately, the life of a Watcher was often nocturnal, so Rupert Giles was not asleep when the phone rang. He picked it up. "Hello?"

"Giles? It's Angel. I just got some bad news about Daria."

Angel didn't sound overemotional, as he would have been if Daria had been killed, so Giles assumed that that wasn't the case. "What is it?"

"The First is getting creative. It – or one of its agents, more likely – has brought in the Order of Taraka and at least one outside assassin to go after Daria. Wes and Cameron Kim are going to try to meet Daria somewhere along the way. I was thinking maybe one of you guys might want to go too."

Giles thought. Buffy couldn't be spared; the hellmouth was fairly quiet, but not so much so that Buffy could take off for a few days. Spike was out of the question. Xander would probably go, but, much as Giles respected the boys' actual combat ability, he wasn't close to being able to handle most agents of the Order of Taraka. That also left out Anya and Tara. And he was still researching everything he could on the First, and couldn't take his books with him.

That left one choice. "I have someone in mind," he said, and promised to call Angel back later. Then he quickly dialed Willow's number.

The witch was still awake. Giles explained the situation.

"Of course I'll go! Just tell me when and where," Willow said.

"I imagine when will be soon. Pack and be ready to leave for Angel's as soon as you can."

"Roger, over and out," Willow said.

Giles called Angel back. "Willow will join you," he said.

"How soon can she be here?"

"As fast as she can pack and drive," Giles said.

"Good. 'cause Wes and Daria are hashing out where to meet right now. Looks to be Kansas City. We can get a flight out there in a few hours."

"I shall so inform her." After a second, "Is there a reason that they're simply not flying back to California themselves?"

"Apparently Daria's worried that the First might spook the pilot," Angel said. "Says that as interest as she isn't in dying, she's even less interested in taking a planeload of people with her. Can't say as I blame her."

Giles agreed, hung up, and went to call Willow back.

X X X X X

Chip Davis picked up the phone. Of course he didn't mind being woken up in the middle of the night by Linda Griffin. Oh, of course I'll look up that flight information for you. Of course I'll let you yell at me before we have sex.

Okay, he actually didn't mind the sex. Linda Griffin was a stone bitch, but in the bedroom she was pretty damned good.

Still, that wasn't enough to make Chip happy – well, for more than a few minutes, anyway.

And what made it worse is that, having just gotten promoted to President of Marketing within the last month or so, Linda seemed to have gone completely off the rails. A "sabbatical" while driving across the country and now chartering a plane from St. Louis to Salt Lake City? This made no sense at all.

And Chip wasn't going to be dragged down with her. He'd stay put and follow her orders until the meeting on Thursday morning, and then he'd make damn sure everyone knew where she was, what she was doing, and (if he could find out) who she was doing it with.

He'd worked too hard and kept his nose down for too long to get kicked out now for being "too friendly" with someone who was going as batshit insane as Linda Griffin seemed to be.

Linda picked up the phone on the third ring. "Chip?" she said. "It had better be you this time."

Of course it was him. Who the hell else would be calling her in the middle of the night?

X X X X X

Patrice, who used only the one name, checked her weaponry. Three pistols, varying calibers. Check. One shotgun. Check.

She was ready.

Her target was one Daria Morgendorffer, who was also a Slayer. Not the one they had targeted earlier, and they had been assured that the Watchers' Council would take no action if Ms. Morgendorffer were to end up dead.

The heads of the Order had sent her and one other assassin her picture and approximate location – to the east of Kansas City, Missouri - along with the information that she was currently traveling westwards on Interstate 70. She would be updated when the location changed, as would her rival.

This was enough. Patrice had just finished an assignment in, of all places, Dodge City, Kansas – it had amused her to let her victim believe she was part of the "scenery" right up until the time she killed him – and was happy to move on to the next one.

She was especially happy that she was going up against another Slayer. Not because she held a grudge against the one who'd beaten her; assassins of the Order didn't hold grudges, but because of the challenge, the chance to prove that she could kill a Slayer if given the chance, to learn from her mistakes.

For one thing, this time she wouldn't draw her weapon when the Slayer was within range to grab it.

The other part of the challenge, of course, was in killing the target before the other assassin did so. The rivalry was informal; nothing would happen to Patrice if the other Order member finished the job first. Fail too many, of course, and you'd be out. That rarely happened; the Order was selective about who they let in in the first place.

Patrice did not plan on that being a problem.

X X X X X

Some of the humans thought he was part demon, presumably because of the shape of his head.

He was not. He'd had it tested, magically. (He didn't like to use magic on the job. But he'd use it for stuff like this.) His family was human going back several generations, so if there was demonic influence it had come before that.

Besides, not everyone in the family had a head like his. Him. His one brother. His daughter, though she had enough hair to keep it covered. His son.

But his father and his other brother didn't.

He'd just finished a job in Kansas City – rubbing out a member of the mob who'd squealed – when the Order called him. That was aces by him. He liked doing what he did. And he was the best at it.

He'd never blown an assignment, not one. And he wasn't about to start now. So this dame was the Slayer? So what? Slayers bled just like everyone else.

He made sure he had plenty of ammo for his tommy gun – he'd kept it in top condition and he'd rather use it than any modern piece of equipment made by the lowest bidder. Hell, he carried it in a guitar case. No one expected that any more, it had become such a cliché. Worked on his behalf.

Then he headed out. Maybe if he got lucky he'd catch the broad before she even got to Kansas City and this would all be over.

If not, he'd still kill her. Sure as he was Flattop Jones.

X X X X X

Yeah, that one, kinda sorta. I wanted someone semi-recognizable to be the second assassin without going to wells that had already been used too often. Per disclaimer purposes, he was created by Chester Gould.


	25. Mother Can You Hear Me?

The full title of this chapter has six words, and comes from Tracy Bonham.

X X X X X

Here they were. Once again, hanging around an airport again in the middle of the night, which was rapidly becoming early Tuesday morning. At least everyone else could sleep, Daria thought, seeing Jane and Oz sacked out a couple of seats apart. Aunt Amy was awake again and getting the two of them coffee.

The third time she'd slept, for about an hour and a half, the First had apparently left her alone. She'd dreamed about Camp Grizzly, but nothing had reminded her of April 10, 1997, either the day, or the book.

She'd gotten a call from Wes, saying they had credible intel that the fucking order of Taraka was sending out a couple of assassins - and that her old pal Mrs. Kruger was also after her - so they were sending out some more help. Specifically, Wes himself, Cameron Kim, and Willow.

Not Delta Force, but not too damned bad, either. Also, Willow had a spell worked out that would let Daria see Bringers coming from a couple of miles away. Also not ideal, but also a lot better than what they had now. Daria would not be doing any complaining.

Well, any real complaining. Some mock complaints were probably in order. (When were they not?)

Here came Aunt Amy with the coffee - two exceptionally large cups. "If I'd realized we were going to be bathing in the coffee instead of drinking it, I would have brought my rubber ducky," Daria said as her aunt handed her a cup.

"I got about three hours of sleep," Aunt Amy said. "I'm going to need this if we want to stand a good chance of me not wrapping us around a telephone pole when we leave."

"We're going to have three extra people," Daria said. "There's a good chance you won't need to be one of the drivers."

Aunt Amy, who'd just taken a huge sip of the coffee, frowned slightly. "Let me guess," Daria said. "You hadn't thought of that."

"Well, yes; but caffeine and I are old enemies. There's not enough in here that it's going to bug me for too long. I was more thinking that I've always had an ironclad rule that I just broke."

"Really? What?"

"Never buy anything from a place named for a character from Moby Dick."

"Does that mean we won't be getting dinner from Ahab's? Damn. And I was so looking forward to some yummy whale tenders." She sipped the coffee, "Tastes fine to me."

"Yes. But you still remember prison food."

"True. Anything short of gruel would be positively gourmet."

"Sweetie?" A voice said behind her.

"Helen?" Amy said.

Daria whirled. "You see it too?"

"I see her too."

"You see it too. Hello, First."

"Hi, sweetie. Thinking about taking a plane trip? You know, I wouldn't, if I were you. Planes crash, you know."

"So I've heard," Daria said, noting and logging the obvious threat. "What do you want, First?"

"Can't a girl just want to spend time with her daughter and sister?" After a second, "Even if that sister has done a poor job of things."

"Hey—"

"Don't let it goad you, Aunt Amy. This isn't Helen Morgendorffer. It's the First Evil pretending to be her, to goad us." Fortunately for them, the airport was empty enough that not many people saw her and Amy talking with empty air, and those that did didn't say anything or call security.

Her aunt shook her head as if clearing sleep from her eyes. "Yeah. I know. Thanks for the reminder."

"Don't respond to its arguments; don't respond to the way it looks."

"Ignore it and it'll go away?"

"That doesn't work either."

"I'm standing right here, you know," the First said.

"No you're not," Daria said, and went over and walked right through her.

"Well, I'm kind of standing here, anyway," it muttered. "Listen, sweetie. I told you it was okay when that man shot me and splattered my brains all over the living room floor. Well, it wasn't okay."

Refusing to be baited, Daria said, "I don't remember. But somehow I think to Mom it would have been okay." She was, in fact, sure of it. Mom had her problems, but she'd have sacrificed her life for her children without a second's hesitation. So would Dad, for that matter.

"You don't remember?" It turned to Amy. "You hear that? A mass murderer brutally kills me right in front of her and she doesn't remember. I think I should be insulted."

This was patently another one of the First's attempts to trigger rage; but unlike with the other cases, this one wasn't working at all.

Daria had a specific set of triggers. Tell wasn't one of them, apparently, unlike show. "Be insulted, First. Go ahead. Walk away and never come back. See if I care."

"You'd talk to your own mother like that?" Looking at Amy again, it said, "See what I had to put up. You were smart never to have children, Amy. Oh, that's right. You couldn't. Never mind, then."

Daria looked at her aunt. That last blow had told, clearly, but she turned away, refusing to answer. Good.

Daria answered. "Of course I'd talk to my mother like that. You have your memories; you know that damned well. More important is whether I'd talk to you like that. And I think that answer's pretty obvious, don't you?"

"Mmm-hmmm. So, tell me, sweetie, how're you coming with that hint I gave you?"

"Oh, that? Vague and unrevealing. I decided not to bother trying to figure it out."

She shrugged. "Okay. Your loss, then, but I didn't lie to you. Anyway, I really should be going."

"Yes, you should." Daria said. "And don't come back now, you hear?"

The First winked out.

Amy came over and stood close to Daria. "Is that what that's like? That – emotionally tearing?"

"Yes. Most of the time." Then, because her aunt clearly was upset, "Aunt Amy. Are you okay?"

Amy sat down heavily on an airport chair. "I will be."

"You can't have -?" Daria asked quietly.

"No. Not since I was about sixteen. And you might be able to imagine why. It's not something I want to talk about."

"Understood. I won't bring it up again." After a second, she added, "We can't be sure the First won't, though."

"I know."

They sat down, sipped their cooling coffee, and waited for the incoming flight from Los Angeles.

X X X X X

This was perfect.

Flattop didn't even have to leave Kansas City; the dame he was supposed to ice was right here, sitting in the airport. She'd be dead before any of the other hit men even got a chance to.

Of course, in the middle of an airport, killing her wasn't going to be the problem; killing her and getting out safely, that would be the issue. He didn't care if everyone knew it was him; he wasn't hard to miss with that dome of his.

He put his rental car in long-term parking. He'd never see it again and he might as well give the coppers a harder time finding it and lining up evidence of where he was and where he might be going. Of course, he was already two steps ahead of them. He'd dummied up all sorts of phony garbage back there. It'd take them days to sort through it and by then he'd be onto his next hit. (Apparently there was this flatfoot in Chicago giving the local hoods a hard time. Flattop planned to be the one to take him out, too.)

It was a big airport, of course, but Flattop was confident. He'd find her, he'd take her out, get his pay and be out of there before the local constabulary caught wise.

He walked in and started looking around.

X X X X X

The only reason Linda Griffin wasn't swearing right now was because she was engaged in negotiations with a man who owned a charter airline service. The man's displeasure at having been awakened at 5 AM was more than made up for by the large wad of cash Linda waved in front of his nose. (Where the Bringers had gotten the money, Linda didn't know and was pretty sure she didn't want to.)

It seemed that Daria Morgendorffer and her friends had stopped in Kansas City about an hour after Linda and the Bringers with her had stopped in St. Louis. Had they kept going, they would be less than an hour away by now.

She had continued to receive photographs of Daria Morgendorffer, but nothing that put her in an incriminating position, unfortunately. She had also asked online for private detectives who would dig up information on Ms. Morgendorffer, and for any victims' rights groups who protested her release to contact her, but she planned to do nothing with them. They were smokescreens, set to waste the time of whomever the mysterious hacker was who was sabotaging Linda's efforts so far.

She had also reposted on several more online bulletin boards her request for photographs, and those she still would do something with, if she got them. All they had been so far is an annoyance to Daria Morgendorffer, but an annoyance meant a distraction, which could conceivably lead to her death. It was certainly worth the continued expenditure of Linda's time and energy.

It was too late now, alas, to do anything about the young woman's presence in Kansas City. She could conceivably jump back into the van and tear across the entire state of Missouri at maximum speed, but the odds were strongly against the Slayer being anywhere near Kansas City by the time they got there.

No. Best to continue playing it the way she had been. Kansas City was not a hotbed of Bringer activity, but there were a half dozen in the vicinity, awaiting their master's orders. And since she was speaking for that master, they would be attacking her the first chance they got.

Back to the airline owner. A second wad of cash prompted him to call one of his pilots, promise him a huge bonus, and tell him to get to their hangar at the St. Louis airport to take Linda Griffin and a group of -

"Blind, mentally challenged individuals," Linda prompted.

- to Salt Lake City.

Salt Lake City was the closest major city to the end of interstate 70. It also would give Linda ample warning to intercept them if they moved off of 70 before it ended, to try to find another way west.

Of course, there were two assassins from the order of Taraka along the way from there to here, so with any luck Linda would have been doing this just for the exercise.

Still had to keep as many balls in the air as she could.

Fortunately, she was an excellent juggler.

X X X X X

Jane Lane found herself being jostled awake. "Um?" she said.

"Um yourself. They're just about here," Daria said.

"And I had to be awake for that?"

"We move as a team," Daria said.

"A pack," Oz said.

"Wolf thing?" Jane asked.

"Wolf thing," Oz confirmed. "I can say band if you prefer."

Jane shuddered. "No thank you. If we're a band, I'm the roadie."

"Good," Amy Barksdale said. "Now we know who's carrying the baggage."

"How are you two so very awake?" Jane said.

"Massive infusions of caffeine," Amy said.

"I wake up quickly," Oz said.

"Another wolf thing?" Jane asked.

"Naah. I've always been a quick riser."

"Are you _sure_ you're a musician?"

"I could play _In the Pines_ for you if you need proof," Oz said. "Someone else'll have to sing, though. Why the skepticism?"

"The people in my brother's band sometimes need a liberal application of crowbars and buckets of water to get them out of bed. I've seen enough others that I assumed it was typical of the species.

"It may be," Oz said. "I was in college when I was in a band. Only got to sleep till noon on the weekends."

"Or maybe it's typical of one particular family," Daria muttered. "Move it, Lane."

Grumbling, Jane stood up. Daria could have a point, but Jane would be damned if she'd admit it. "Yes, Mein Kommandant!" Jane said in an atrocious German accent. "Vould you like me to bring the coffee as vell?"

"I know nothing," Daria said, deadpan, as they started walking. "Oh. _Damn_."

"Damn?"

"Bringers. Down the concourse to the left. Four of them. Headed directly for us." The Bringers, maybe 100 feet away, were drawing stares, but not security; they had on sunglasses and were moving slowly, like they wanted to make sure no one interfered with them until it was too late.

"A fight in the middle of an airport is guaranteed to get us detained by security," Amy said.

"I know," Daria said. "I'll see if I can draw them off. If they follow me, I'll try to lead them somewhere where there aren't a lot of other people around. If they don't, I'll fight them here and we'll handle the fallout as best as we can. Oz—"

"Don't worry," he said.

"Good." And without another word Daria casually strolled down the concourse away from the Bringers. Not far enough away that she couldn't have come back to save them if necessary.

It wasn't. They changed their path and aimed towards her. As they passed the three of them, Jane let out a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding, turned to Oz and said, "I'm going to go do something about this."

And she walked off before Amy or Oz could stop her.

Not to fight. Don't be ridiculous. Jane was perfectly capable of nonrandom acts of violence, but she knew when her efforts wouldn't be particularly helpful. Fanatics armed with knives? She would if she had to. If Daria were lying on the concourse now, Jane wouldn't have given it a second thought. But now?

No. Not when there was a better option.

As Daria moved away and the Bringers followed her, Jane walked up to the nearest security guard and said, "Hey."

"Yes?" the guard said.

"See those four guys in the robes?"

"Yeah. What of 'em?"

"They've been harassing my friend – the one with the orange shirt and leather pants down there. Watch. See them following her?"

The guard looked where Jane was pointing and said, "Yeah. Could be-" Then she noticed that when Daria moved, her followers moved. "Yeah," she said with a bit more conviction. "I do. Thanks."

"You're welcome," Jane started to say, but the guard was already moving sharply down the concourse, speaking into her radio.

"Mike? Yeah. Got a couple of stalkers here. Get over to United terminal section 7." Then she ran after the Bringers and tapped one of them on the shoulder. "Sir!" She said. "I'm going to have to ask you to stop."

Amy had come up to Jane while this was going on. Before she could say anything, Jane said, "Call Daria. Tell her to keep going."

Nodding her head, Amy said, "Okay. I see where you're going," and retreated back to Oz.

The announcement came in over the intercom that the flight from Los Angeles was now arriving.

Down the concourse, the Bringers hadn't stopped. The guard was more forceful this time, and the Bringer turned and slashed at the guard.

Oh, shit. She'd wanted to stop the Bringers; she hadn't wanted the guard to get hurt. She might not think much of most people but that didn't mean she actually wanted them dead.

And the guard wasn't, not badly, anyway. As she jumped back, she yelled code something into her radio and out loud, and drew her weapon.

The other three Bringers took off in a dead run, but were quickly surrounded by a mob of security guards, all with drawn weapons. Goody. A gun show!

Jane moved back to Amy and Oz. "Can you two handle greeting our guests? I think I need to get myself gone, too."

Oz nodded. "Understood." They'd want Jane as a witness. The security guards were currently busy with the irritated Bringers, who still seemed to be trying to figure out whether they could break through and get to Daria.

Apparently not. As Jane walked away from the action, all four of the Bringers drew their knives and slashed their own throats.

Jane shuddered slightly before beginning to contemplate what she could do with that, artistically.

Might make a good painting.

X X X X X

Daria took Aunt Amy's call, said, "Got it," and accelerated, risking only a quick look behind her to see that the bringers were now surrounded by airport security.

She walked far as she could before she got to a food guards. None of the guards were on her, either chasing her or walking up slow. Good. Meant she'd probably gotten away.

Risky idea of Jane's, but it seemed to have worked, which was the important thing. Should have thought of something like it herself. But then, she was mentally somewhat tired, and the caffeine wasn't helping that much.

This was exhausting. Of course, she was fairly sure that was part of the First's plan, even if it was a small one. Tired, she might make mistakes.

She was determined not to do that. The First Evil might beat her, but Daria would be damned if it would outwit her.

Most of the places in the food court were closed, at 6 am; but there was a bagel place and a McDonald's open for breakfast. Hungry (like every growing Slayer, of course), she went to the bagel place and picked up a dozen bagels, some cream cheese, and a drink.

A man's voice, behind her, said, 'Good. You bought me breakfast."

Daria was about to turn around when she felt a pistol jammed against her spine.

Well, this was just fucking marvelous.


	26. Three Laws

Flattop had been looking for about forty-five minutes. It was an airport, so he was expecting this.

He'd moved past the United Terminal and had to veer around a major scene – four beings, magic in some way, had killed themselves in the middle of things.

All this security here meant there'd be less elsewhere. Good news for him.

Still, he didn't breathe easy until he was past the dopes from security. Bunch of would-be flatfoots, the lot of them, but that didn't mean one of them might not see him and figure out something was going on.

Up ahead, in the distance, he saw a dame that looked like his target. He kept her in sight but far enough back so she wouldn't catch wise.

She moved fast, fast enough that Flattop had to hustle to keep her in view. People moving quick in airports was common, though, so he still didn't get any attention he didn't want.

Finally the girl stopped at a food court and started buying food. Empty, but not empty enough; maybe a dozen people eating their breakfast. In a pinch, he'd whip out his tommy gun and start shooting and worry about how to get out later, but he wanted to take on that cop from Chicago, so getting caught wasn't in his plans.

The girl bought bagels. Nice of her; Flattop hadn't had breakfast yet and he loved a good bagel. He reached for his heater. Yes, he liked his tommy gun, but that didn't mean he wouldn't kill her some other way if he got the chance. He knew some of the people in the order of Taraka were fanatics about one way. They were suckers, all of them, no matter how many people they killed.

After she paid, he pressed his pistol up against the base of her spine and said, "Good. You bought me breakfast."

She didn't say anything.

"I know how fast you are," he said. "This is faster. Come on over to my table, sit down. We can talk as we eat."

The woman carried her bag of bagels and drink over to the seating area. "The one with the guitar case," he said. "Put the bagels down slowly and sit down."

She did so. Flattop made sure she could see the gun as he moved around the table and sat down herself. Keeping his pistol hand under the table, he reached for the bag and picked out a cinnamon raisin bagel, then pushed the bag back towards her. "Please," he said through mouthfuls. "Eat."

She picked out an everything bagel, sliced it, and spread some cream cheese on it. "Can I open my water?"

"Of course," he said. "I'm going to kill you, but you're getting your last meal first."

"Order of Taraka?"

"Yes. Now eat and then we can go somewhere private." After a second, he said, "I don't want witnesses, or other people killed. Gets too much attention from the cops. And I'm not getting paid to kill anyone else."

"But," she said, taking a bite of her bagel, "That doesn't mean you won't do it if you have to."

She hadn't said it like a question, but he answered it anyway. "Of course."

They ate in silence for a couple of minutes. Flattop had had better bagels, but he hadn't paid for this one, so he figured it wasn't right for him to complain. Then, they were done.

"Leave the bagels here, Slayer," he said. "Keep your hands where I can see them." A bag of bagels wasn't much of a weapon. But people fighting for their life would try anything. He wanted nothing in her hands.

He figured her to try something when he made ready to kill her. So he wasn't going to give her the chance. Halfway there, soon as there was no one else around, he'd plug her twice in the back of the head, hijack the first car he came across with a driver in it, and get himself good and lost.

He told her to march out, telling her they were going to go to long-term parking - the far end, where there weren't a lot of people around. This was a good half mile walk.

But the place would likely be nearly empty way before they got there.

His tommy gun in one hand, his rod in the other, Flattop followed her out the exit and past short term parking.

They turned left as they got to long term parking and kept walking. There were fewer and fewer cars.

As they passed the last one, he clicked off the safety and raised the barrel of his weapon. "Just keep walking," he said, planning to shoot the second she answered.

She didn't answer like he expected. She swung her left arm back and slammed it into the guitar case, knocking him off balance. He fired, but his shot went wild into the air.

He dropped his case, but before he could get off a second shot the pistol was slapped out of his hand by a blow stronger than he could have ever thought. It ended up maybe thirty feet away.

No point in trying any further, then. Slayers weren't killers. He held up his hands and said, "Okay, Slayer. You got me."

"Yeah. I'm just not sure what to do with you."

"Well, we know you're not going to kill me."

"Yeah? People and things've been trying to kill me now for two days straight and I ain't gotten to kill one of them yes and honestly I'm getting sick and tired of it." She reached forward and rapped him on the top of his head. "And your head's oddly shaped enough that you probably are a demon, yo."

"I had it checked, I'm not."

"Well, then, that settles it for me. I'll believe the person who stepped directly out of the 1940s. And after that, perhaps I'll contact that nice man in Nigeria who's been offering me millions of dollars. You think I'm stupid?"

And drawing a stake out of her pocket, the woman moved forward quickly. He tried to fight, but the last thing Flattop felt was a hard blow to the base of his skull.

X X X X X

Daria sighed, then swore. Now the First was hiring human assassins – this one a hit man who looked like he'd been hired from the middle of a B gangster movie. She hadn't thought the man was a demon, but hadn't been particularly inclined to clue the bastard in who'd been seconds away from shooting her in the head. Call her sadistic. But she hadn't felt she'd owed the man any favors.

She'd figured him for something like that, so she'd listened carefully. Had Flattop been smart about it, he would've waited till a plane was taking off of or landing, because even Daria's strong hearing would've had trouble with that one. She would have had to strike randomly, risking the chance others might see.

That was a concern, but always a secondary one. Or, probably, tertiary. B had told her that rule number one was "Don't die." She was wrong. Rule number one is "Don't let anyone else die." "Don't die" was maybe rule number two, with "Try not to let anyone see you who doesn't have to" coming in at number three.

Seemed like something for Isaac Asimov: The Three Laws of Slayerics.

1. A Slayer must not injure an innocent being, or through inaction, allow an innocent being to come to harm.

They could screw around with the definition of innocent later.

2. A Slayer must safeguard her own existence, except where this would conflict with the First Law.

Self-explanatory.

3. A Slayer must conceal her existence as a Slayer, except where such concealment would conflict with the First or Second Law.

People tended to explain away the otherwise inexplicable, but if Buffy or Faith or demons started marching down Main Street demonstrating their abilities, some people would eventually figure things out.

She'd mention this to Buffy later. Right now, her concern was: what did she do with the hitman? First things first. She took the pistol, unloaded it, pocketed the five bullets, and crushed the barrel with her foot.

Second. He'd seemed damned fond of that guitar case, and dude didn't strike her as a musician. She carefully opened it up – and gaped.

Old fashioned 1940s style machine gun. Man didn't just dress like an old-style gangster; he lived the life, too. Sweet weapon. Daria might've been willing to break a cheap handgun, but destroying this would've been like destroying Excalibur.

So it was coming with them. Case looked nothing like Oz's, so no wacky sitcom hijinks would ensue.

In the meantime, she rifled the guy's pockets and found a wallet and a set of car keys. She took about a thousand dollars in cash - a charity would be getting a nice donation - and every card inside except the man's driver's license. His name was Jones. Huh. Probably made up.

She put the wallet back in the man's pocket and shoved the man behind a parked car. Then she stripped off his shirt, tied his hands and feet with it, hit him in the back of the head again, and headed back towards the airport.

Along the way, she threw the keys as far as she could into a nearby field, followed, one by one, by the bullets.

The cards were shredded and dumped, in pieces, in the various outdoor trashcans she passed, except for the handful she kept with her; they'd be getting trashed at the next stop

As she was walking through short-term parking to where they'd put the car and the van, she noticed everyone loading up the van and the back of the truck. She could see Willow, Wesley, and Cameron Kim.

Where was Jane?

There she was. She was hunched down, back of the car. Why, Daria wasn't sure.

Her cell phone rang and Daria said, "Joe's Pizza."

Aunt Amy said, "Daria? Where are you?"

"Actually, I'm about a hundred feet away. And closing rapidly." Amy looked up and Daria gave a small smile. "So I'll talk to you in about ten seconds," she finished, and hung up.

"What happened to the Bringers?" She asked.

"Security," Oz said. "Surrounded 'em. They ended things themselves."

"The throat?"

"The throat," Oz confirmed. "Where were you?"

"A hitman hired by the order of Taraka tried to shoot me. I dumped him bounded and gagged behind a parked car in long-term parking and brought this cool souvenir. Now, everyone, gather 'round," she said, deadpan. Then, when everyone had come over, she quickly opened the guitar case and showed them the tommy gun inside.

"Didn't think you'd taken up music," Oz said.

"What are you going to do with that?"

"Take it with us until I can figure out what to do with it," Daria said. "It looks like the genuine article; I didn't want to break it but I certainly didn't want to leave it around for him to use, later."

"Just be careful with it."

"Well, there go my plans to fire it wildly into the air as we're leaving the airport." After a second, "And now that we're done with that: Willow. Wesley. Cameron."

Willow smiled. "Hi, Daria." Willow had been pretty hostile to Daria when she'd first come to Sunnydale. Over the course of dealing with Glory, and the weeks of training afterward, they'd come to an understanding. Spike, now, he was different; he'd stayed a dick. But Daria hardly took that personally. He was a dick in general, to most people.

Wesley said, "It is good to see you're unhurt."

"If you like it, think how I feel," Daria said, smiling slightly. "And Cameron. Contact, please."

"I assure you -" Wesley began.

"Assure away. But I'm going to need proof."

Cameron said, "Of course," stepped forward, and shook Daria's hand.

"What was that about?" Oz said.

"I died," Cameron said. "So Daria's concerned that the First might be imitating me."

"Not concerned," Daria said. "Just doublechecking."

"I suppose that's wise," Wesley said.

"I'm glad you think so," Daria said. "But let me be clear that it wouldn't have mattered if you'd thought it was the stupidest and most offensive move on the planet."

"Understood."

Cameron said, "I think I know what I can do about that." And without another word she promptly shifted into the form of Dawn Summers. "So?"

"That'll work," Daria said. It was a good idea, assuming Angel was right that the First couldn't use Cameron's shapechanging abilities.

Aunt Amy had gaped slightly when she saw Cameron change her form, though she did her best to hide her amazement. "Different when you see it up close, isn't it?"

"It is," she said. "My apologies, Miss Kim."

"Call me Cameron." To Daria, she said, "Dr. Vaughn would like you to call her at your earliest opportunity," Cameron said.

"I was planning to. Oz thought she might be able to help me with something also. The First is trying to induce a state of intense rage in me, possibly as a backup plan to simply having me killed. Oz gave me a quick and dirty lesson in non-Western tai chi and it helped the last time he tried something. I don't suppose you have anything in that bag of tricks of yours, Willow?"

"I'm a witch, not Felix the Cat," Willow grumbled.

"Wait," Amy said. "You _got_ that reference?"

"Chalk it up to Xander's bad influence," Willow said. "If there was a cartoon show on, the boy watched it. I saw everything from Bugs Bunny to Tom Slick."

"Tom who?" Daria asked.

"My point," Willow said. "Anyway, no, I don't have anything to cure your rage, but I do have a handy-dandy detection spell for you. It'll let you feel if any Bringers come within a couple of miles. And give you a basic idea of their direction and location."

"Did you test it?"

"Yes. And there were three Bringers in Sunnydale."

"Were?" Oz asked.

"They found better things to do. Buffy encouraged them to leave." After a second, "Oh! And there are two within a couple of hundred feet."

Daria sighed, but Wesley said, "Easy, Ms. Morgendorffer. I believe that's one of the reasons we came. Cameron? If you would?"

Cameron nodded, Willow pointed off to her right, and Wesley and Cameron jogged off, Wesley unlimbering some kind of cudgel as he went.

"We're all packed," Oz announced. "I put the tommy gun in your trunk, Ms. Barksdale. Didn't want to confuse it with my guitar."

"Yeah, imagine going for a chord and wiping out a roomful of people. Wouldn't _that_ be awkward," Aunt Amy said.

"My exact thought," Oz said.

Daria, meanwhile, had pulled Willow to one side, saying, "Let's get the spell cast, then," and then, when they were about twenty feet away said _sotto voce_, "Just a quick heads-up. A couple of them, actually."

"About what?"

"First, my friend Jane. She seems to be attracted to Oz."

"I'm not planning any more fits of jealousy," Willow said with a slightly offended tone.

"Good to know, but I didn't think you were," Daria said. "It's just, I know secondhand the Scooby tendency to be protective of friends and relations when it comes to potential relationships. Trust me. Jane doesn't need to be threatened with harm." Her tone was civil, but firm.

"No shovel speech?"

"Fuck, no," Daria said. "And that's the second thing: Aunt Amy isn't aware that I'm still part Faith. Don't tell her, and clue Cameron and Wes in when they get back."

"Will do," Willow said. "I had been wondering why you sounded 95% Daria and maybe 5% Faith."

"Five percent? That high?"

"Yup. It's only there if you're listening for it, but it's still there just a little."

"I'll be even more careful. Anyway. The spell?"

"Right." Willow grabbed Daria's hands and chanted briefly in what seemed like a Romance language, but which one? Damn if she knew.

And then it hit her and she staggered back and blinked. She felt two presences, and continued to feel them as Wes and Cameron came jogging up. "They won't be bothering us for a while," Wesley said.

"Not while their ankles are broken, no," Cameron said, grinning. "I'm finding orangutan more and more useful."

"You let them live?" Daria asked.

"Er, yes," Wesley said. "Mr. Giles made it clear that the status of their humanity was in question, and that you were particularly concerned about this. Still, we wanted to guarantee that they would not trouble us in the future."

"And he's the boss," Cameron said.

"Thank you," Daria said. "That's the First Law."

"The First Law?" Willow asked.

"I'll explain later."

X X X X X

Apologies to the late Dr. Asimov, who created the Three Laws of Robotics.

Also, many _Dick Tracy_ villains were classic "talking killers." Sharing a last meal with his victim before marching them off to die is well within Flattop's character.


	27. Janey's Got a Gun

Willow Rosenberg was kind of surprised to see just Oz waiting for them after their plane landed - no wait, Oz and someone else, looked a little like Daria, so it had to be her aunt, Amy Barksdale.

Willow and Oz had stayed in touch since they shut off any possibility of reopening their relationship a bit over a year ago, and she'd been confident enough in him that she felt asking him to help Daria; but face to face, that was a different matter, and don't let anyone tell you it wasn't.

He smiled slightly when he saw her and said, "Hey."

"Hey yourself," Willow said.

"Hello, Oz," Wesley said. "This young woman behind me is Cameron Kim."

"Shapeshifter?"

"Shapeshifter," Cameron said. "I'm not going to prove it in the middle of the airport without a very good reason, though."

"Understood," Oz said. "This is Amy Barksdale. Daria's aunt."

Handshakes all around, and then Wesley asked, "Where are Ms. Morgendorffer and her friend?

"On our way out we'll pass airport security actually being efficient," Ms. Barksdale said.

"Bringers," Oz said. "Daria drew them off, and Jane called airport security on them." They walked off towards baggage claim.

"To avoid being captured, they slit their throats," Ms. Barksdale said. "Daria kept going, out to the cars, I think. Jane's hiding to avoid Security."

Willow concentrated for a second. "There are a couple of others within a quarter mile. Off in that direction." She pointed towards the front of the airport.

"Magic?" Ms. Barksdale asked.

"Yes. Daria did say you knew –" for a second, Willow was worried she'd just spilled the beans.

Another one of her unreasonable fears. (Not like the frog one. That was perfectly reasonable. They were out to get her.) "I do," she said. "And – a couple more?"

"Yes."

"Wonderful," Ms. Barksdale said sarcastically. "This'll only be the seven hundredth attack or so. Don't these beings have anything better to do?"

"In point of fact, no," Wesley said. "They are human who have, metaphorically 'sold their souls' and their wills to the First in exchange for vague promises of being more powerful when the First somehow takes power. They can serve their own basic needs on their own, but anything else is at the direction of the First."

"Or their human agent," Ms. Barksdale said.

"Oh! Right! Willow said. "That's that Linda Griffin woman. She's still trying to harass Daria online; asking for more photos, trying to hire private detectives, and more."

Oz frowned. "Seems like overkill for someone she's trying to get killed."

Willow nodded and smiled. Oz had hit on what had bothered her about the entire thing. "I know. I think she must have noticed someone was on to her – those places she asked for photos? She's been back to them, and asked again those places I blocked her. I've reblocked those, but let the other ones go."

"Why?"

"Because I'm fairly sure it's a bluff and there are more important things for us to do right now." The overhead display showed that their plane's luggage was coming.

They went and collected it, and Jane Lane (who'd been hiding out in a men's room stall, figuring no one would think to look for her in there, and it had worked, so what do you know) and headed out to the parking garage.

X X X X X

Linda Griffin, in the air over Missouri, was swearing to herself. The Slayer was still in Kansas City; her army of Bringers would have gotten there, would have found her, and could have killed her.

The four who'd already tried had had no luck; they'd all winked out at the same time about ten minutes previously. There were two others still there, but Linda didn't give them much of a chance, either.

Nothing to do about it at this point at all but set up in Utah and wait for the Slayer to come to her. She would have, at minimum, several hours to set up, which would also give her several hours in the event Daria Morgendorffer and her friends pulled a fast one, departed from their current route, and tried to slide around Utah in some fashion.

Plus, of course, it would give several hours for any Bringers in the vicinity to make their way there. Linda had given the order that any Bringer who could reach the end of Interstate 70 by 3 PM today should make its way there as quickly as possible and to camouflage themselves as well, by any means that did not attract undue amounts of attention.

She'd received about a dozen more photographs, mostly of Ms. Morgendorffer on the ground in Kansas City, none of which were remotely incriminating. She fed them back anonymously to the police departments in Lawndale, Alexandria, VA, and Lexington, Kentucky, all of whom thought of Ms. Morgendorffer as at least a potential witness, and any of whom might decide to send out a low-grade APB to police around the country.

It would be hard to attack her while she was pinned down in a police station, but they could certainly wait until after she got out to attack her en masse.

Assuming that that wasn't going to work, she now had the thirty or so Bringers in the back of the plane (a "cargo" that had required the payment of an additional wad of cash flashed in front of both the owner and the pilot, who had been willing to waive the liability waiver only for that; Linda didn't particularly care, as it wasn't her money in the first place).

The Bringers were towards the back of the plane, huddled together, doing whatever Bringers did when left to themselves; Linda didn't know and wasn't going to look to find out. She was seated up in the front, in an area behind the pilots, where they had a couple of additional seats. They weren't remotely comfortable, but Linda could get some work done, in the interim.

Her "normal" job was still challenging, though she was fending off more and more demands to know exactly where she was and what she thought she was doing. She promised them she'd be at the Thursday meeting with a good explanation, lying through her teeth of course not that these people would understand anything she'd been doing, or why, if she told the truth.

Linda's chances probably now rested upon the success, or failure, of her attempts in Utah. All of her other attempts had so far, except for the battle in Lexington, had done no more than distract the young woman.

And now she had allies – and was probably about to get even more. One does not wait around in an airport because one is fond of paying inflated prices for coffee. She made a mental note to ask the First to tell her what it could about whoever it was Daria Morgendorffer had stopped off to collect.

And that was assuming that the one assassin, "Flattop," didn't get to her first. He'd been right in Kansas City when he'd been pegged for the job.

Presumably, the First would come and tell her, if he succeeded. So far, she would assume he had not.

That was why "Patrice" and Mrs. Kruger were also out there, though Mrs. Kruger had been just leaving California, when she called, and Patrice was still halfway across Kansas.

She checked her watch. Half an hour down.

Two more to go.

She sighed and got back to marketing.

X X X X X

The First Evil, in the In-Dark, pondered its next maneuver. It felt as though it had squandered its first opportunity portraying Helen Morgendorffer; Daria Morgendorffer hadn't gotten angry once, and Amy Barksdale had followed her niece's lead and, overall, had refused to allow herself to be be baited.

And it had lost four more Bringers. She probably would have defeated them anyway, but the cleverness of her friend had assured that she hadn't even needed to take that chance.

The First thought that it had probably waited too long to begin its attempts to kill or nullify the Slayer; it had wanted to delay things until she was a good distance away from anyone who might be able to assist her, and had waited, in the end, too long, because, as things developed, she had friends on both sides of the country, who had helped her during all attacks, both physical and psychological.

Now, there were more. In addition to the werewolf and the two normal humans, she now had a Watcher, a powerful witch, and a shapeshifter. The shapeshifter had died, so its form and previous memories were available to the First – but not its abilities, annoyingly. Could the first assume any form, its work would be substantially simpler; it could appear as anyone who had ever existed, living, dead, or otherwise. Regrettably, it could not, and the Slayer and her allies had forestalled any attempts by the first to deceive them by appearing in the shape shifter's natural form by having changed into a living being.

Oh, it would still make the attempt the next time the shapeshifter disappeared, but it did not anticipate success. Perhaps it would attempt to take down one of the Slayer's allies, instead of the Slayer herself. That would make her grieve, put her off balance, and perhaps cause her to be more susceptible to rage.

It would inform Linda Griffin of this at the next opportunity, when her airplane landed. Her plans still showed some promise. The Slayer had not been able to relax since the woman had taken over from that oaf, Tommy Sherman, and even though she was not yet dead, it was still a considerable improvement.

The first member of the order of Taraka had failed in its first opportunity, but a swift scan of the assassin's mind indicated that the man certainly planned to try again – though mostly from anger that his 'gat' had been stolen, rather than commitment to the Order's ideals. The Order of Taraka, as with many organizations, had lofty ideals, but ideals that tended to fail somewhat when you looked at individual members. In practice, they were still deadly assassins who punished betrayal savagely, which made them perfect for the current mission.

The First would still go by the assumptions that these assassins would fail. Something Linda Griffin had managed to teach it, along the way, is that having multiple options available did not indicate a lack of confidence in any one of them. So the Bringers would try, and the assassins would try, and Linda Griffin had manipulated certain humans, both ordinary ones and those in law enforcement, to try, and the First itself would try, and if any one of them was successful, the First's goals would be reached, Buffy Summers would die and be reborn, and the gateway in the world would be stuck open, granting the First time and power to unleash the Turok-Han and, ultimately, control and destroy this world and all others.

It was running out of time. Daria Morgendorffer was halfway across the country already.

She could not make it to Sunnydale, no matter what the cost.

The First could appear as dead individuals. If it strained, hard, it could appear as two at once, but such a strain exhausted it, and left it unable to do anything in the world for a while.

It needed to induce the rage. Attempting to influence Daria Morgendorffer's dreams had so far been unsuccessful, and certainly appearing as Helen Morgendorffer alone had not worked.

If the massed attack failed; if the assassins failed; then it would accept exhaustion as its alternative, because it would, in essence, be its last chance.

It would reenact the deaths of Helen, Jake, and Quinn Morgendorffer.

If that did not succeed, it was quite probable that nothing would.

X X X X X

Oz and Wesley were asleep in the back of the car; Jane was driving, with Daria next to her. Amy Barksdale was driving Oz's van, with Willow next to her and Cameron Kim, in her preferred leopard form, in the back, lying across the luggage.

At the next break, probably somewhere around Topeka, Daria and Oz were going to lug Daria's bike out from the back of his van and Daria was going to ride for a while.

In the meantime, though, Jane and Daria were talking. This was good; this was what the trip had allegedly originally been planned to be. Yes, Jane wasn't that big on planning, but she somehow felt things would have been a lot more comfortable overall if they'd gotten Daria's motorcycle to Stacy Rowe's father's shop and had them add the sidecar.

Well, comfortable was a relative term. Wind in her face, insects hurling towards her at seventy miles per hour, what wasn't to love, really? But still, while she was still having a hell of a lot of fun and certainly wasn't going to blame Daria for any of this – how was it her fault that evil personified wanted her dead? It wasn't like she'd been going around calling evil itself nasty names, or something – it probably would have been better for everyone, overall.

Still, that was off in some alternate universe somewhere, and she had to live in the current one.

And so, she and Daria talked, about Sick, Sad World, about their shared love of sci-fi/slasher/horror movies so bad MST3K wouldn't bother with them, about food and their lives – everything but "important" stuff, which Daria had filled her in on early on.

Jane loved that Daria had saved the tommy gun. She'd said she couldn't wait to get her hands on it, which had gotten her odd looks from everyone in the car. "Not to fire it!" she'd protested. "Well, not at people." A steady glare from Daria had gotten Jane to add "who are watching" to the end of that sentence.

She wouldn't fire at people, and while it might be a weird kind of performance art and equally likely to get her applauded or arrested, she wouldn't fire it near people, either.

She could, though. The Lanes were kind of wandering free spirits and liberal politically when they thought about it at all, but they were not pacifists, and Jane actually knew how to hold and fire a couple of different kinds of firearms. Admittedly, an old-fashioned tommy gun had never been among them, but really, how hard could it be?

Said the woman trying to win herself a Darwin Award. Okay. Scratch that. She had no desire to be a feature story on the nightly news or Sick, Sad World.

And then Daria got serious for a second. "I do have one other thing from before to tell you about," she said. "The 'Scoobies'," and yes, Jane could hear the quotation marks, "Have a history of keeping an eye on anyone who might want to date one of them, and threatening them with bodily harm should things go bad."

"Sounds like a right nice bunch o' folks," Jane said with no trace of a hillbilly accent at all.

"On balance, I'd say they actually are, more or less – and remember who you're talking to. I have a low opinion of most people on the planet. A bit fucking insular at times, but considering what we all do for a living, that ain't exactly surprising. Anyway, I told them not to bother threatening you."

"I hope that's because you think I'm a good catch and not because you don't think I have a shot," Jane said.

"If we were in B movies from the 1940s, I might describe you as a good catch. Or if you were secretly a football. But it's more like I think you can chart your own way, whatever that happens to be. And you don't need possible threats of extreme bodily harm getting in the way."

"Like she could take me."

"She, me, and an irritable vampire took down a hellgod," Daria said.

"Okay, she could take me," Jane said.

X X X X X

The last bulletin Patrice had gotten had said that Daria Morgendorffer had left Kansas City and was currently on interstate 70, bound for Topeka. She had survived her encounter with the other member of the Order of Taraka.

Patrice knew that Flattop's reputation had been overstated.

As it turned out, this worked well for her. She was practically in Topeka already.

Of course, it was a big place. No guarantee Patrice would find her target, or even that she would stop in Topeka in the first place.

But she would be close.

And close would, eventually, become on top of.

Which would become dead.

It had to happen that way.

Anything else? Would mean she'd failed.

And Patrice was not about to fail at killing a Slayer again.


	28. Doctor on Call

Mrs. Kruger seethed, but inwardly realized she had no choice. Though she was chafing to get another shot at killing Daria Morgendorffer, she could dematerialize; she was not a teleporter and had to get to Salt Lake City the old fashioned way.

_Salt Lake City_? She'd asked in disbelief, as though no one ever got assassinated in Utah.

_Salt Lake City_, Linda Griffin had confirmed, and then said that events would probably take place somewhere south of that, at the end of interstate 70, and that that's where the final attack was probably going to go down.

So, if it had to be Utah, it had to be Utah. If Rebecca had to fight her way through a gaggle of Mormons and swim over the entire Great Salt Lake, she damn well would, to get another shot at Daria Morgendorffer.

She knew who and what she was going after, this time: A vampire slayer. That made her stronger than Rebecca, and tougher, and faster, though not stronger than her left hand.

Her metallic left hand, which let her squeeze things. Hard. Like necks, and arms, and legs.

She loved the damn thing, no matter that she'd almost had to die to get it. Happened when you were young and stupid and thought your power could get you anything.

Rebecca knew better, now, and was damned careful whenever she phased out to be completely aware of her surroundings. Losing a hand was one thing; she couldn't afford to lose any more body parts.

So, a vampire Slayer. Charging straight in, the way she had in the women's prison, wasn't going to work. She needed to sneak up on the woman.

She needed to be sure she was alone. No guards, no shapeshifters – and the only person Rebecca detested more than Daria Morgendorffer was that damned shapeshifter, Cameron Kim – no one but the Slayer, and her.

It would work this time.

In the meantime, it was only about an hour and a half plane ride, and it was halfway over. She growled at the stewardess that no, she didn't want any coffee, now quit bothering me, and got back to thinking about what she would do to Daria Morgendorffer's neck, when she got the chance.

X X X X X

Oz hadn't quite been asleep when he heard Jane Lane and Daria Morgendorffer discussing him. He certainly didn't show that he was awake; that would have embarrassed them. And they weren't saying anything mean, or nasty. Jane seemed not to like Willow much. But apparently Willow had shown disfavor towards Daria. So it was kind of a retaliatory dislike, sticking up for her friend. Oz could understand, if not approve.

He didn't want to eavesdrop. So he closed his eye and meditated until he could, to some extent, close out the world.

He wasn't asleep, though. Under the circumstances, he could make do with the four hours he'd already had. Being a werewolf hadn't given him more energy. But it did let him resist fatigue, on occasion.

Still, he couldn't really hear the conversation. And that was good.

The reunion with Willow had been anticlimactic. Oz supposed that was for the best. They'd said everything that had needed to be said already; they'd come to their understanding. Part of Oz would always love Willow; a smaller part would always be screaming "mine!"

That part was why he'd gone off, found those herbs and learned meditation and tai chi. That part would stay under control.

Interesting that that part didn't bother Jane. Her opinions of Willow notwithstanding, she was still quite intriguing.

He would not "let her down" yet. He would give her rope. Whether she used it to hang herself or make something interesting was up to her.

Sometime during the day, he needed to try another lesson with Daria. The half an hour from last night had proven useful. But she needed more.

As many as they could fit in. He was very much concerned that that was the only thing that could save her.

Eventually, he slept for a bit, and if any supernatural entity was trying to mess with his dreams, you couldn't have proved it by him.

X X X X X

They were getting closer to Topeka; it was about 9:15. They were going to stop for breakfast – since the bagels Daria'd bought were still sitting on a table in the Kansas City airport – and unload her bike, so Cameron Kim would have the chance to park her ass in a seat. The shapeshifter claimed she was comfortable, but she wasn't really the type to complain. When you could change to adapt to the circumstances, Daria guessed, you probably developed a greater tolerance for when circumstances weren't at their best. Any of the people on the trip, except maybe for wolfboy, would've been bitching their heads off, though in tones varying from cynicism to whiny to bitter resignation.

In the meantime, though –

"Morgendorffer?" Jane said. "Did you fall in?"

"Fall in where?"

Jane shrugged. "Seemed like the right question."

"No, I didn't fall in; did I miss anything?"

"I discovered a cure for cancer and the secret to world peace."

"Really? Tell me," Daria said skeptically.

"Naaah, it's too late. I've forgotten them already."

"Then we'll just have to muddle through on our own, yo," Daria said.

"Don't we always?" Jane asked.

"Anyway, I do apologize; I was thinking."

"About what?"

"This and that."

"Hither and yon?"

"Back and forth, up and down, and back to front," Daria said. "Actually, I was thinking about breakfast."

"Didn't the contract killer you let you have a bagel?"

"Important word there: A. I'm a Slayer. Girls like us got big appetites. One bagel's barely a damn snack." She paused, then said, "I was also thinking it might be time for me to call Doc Vaughn."

"Only going to be about 7:20 there," Jane said.

Unlike you and me, she's got a regular job," Daria said. She's up by now."

As it turned out, she wasn't, though she didn't blame Daria.

Next to her, Jane was laughing. Daria said, "Sorry. I was sure you would be awake."

"And normally I would be," Doc Vaughn said. "Don't worry about it, Daria. I wanted to talk to you anyway."

"Yes, but presumably not when you'd just been woken up."

"No, but this is important. Give me five minutes and call me back?"

Daria said, "Sure," and hung up, then immediately turned to Jane and said, "No commentary from the peanut gallery."

Grinning, Jane said evenly, "What? Me? Wasn't going to say a word. Don't-say-a-word Lane, that's what they call me."

"Earn your nickname," Daria said.

A voice from behind them said, "Do I qualify as the peanut gallery? Because we could have told you that Dr. Vaughn had a brief vacation planned."

"Yeah, you could have, Wes," Daria said. "If you hadn't zonked out the second you got into the car." When there was no response, she said, "You fall asleep again?"

"No – it's just, for a moment there, you did sound exactly like Faith."

"That's going to happen. I am Faith as Faith is me. And we are all together." She said it in as deadpan a voice as she could manage.

"Does that make me the Eggman or the Walrus?" Jane asked.

"I am the werewolf," Oz said. "Goo goo ga joob."

"Wait, we all like the Beatles?" Jane asked.

"I'm a musician," Oz said. "I'm contractually obligated to like the Beatles, Bob Dylan, and Jimi Hendrix."

"Point," Daria said.

"I'm British. Badmouthing the Beatles is a felony," Wesley said.

"You're in America, Wes."

"Have you ever heard of extradition?" Wesley said, giving a fake shudder.

"We'll protect you," Daria said.

Right then her phone rang and Daria said, "Sorry, but I have to take this."

It was Doc Vaughn, of course. "You decent?" Daria asked.

"Define decency."

Daria said, "I should've known better than to ask that question of a psychiatrist."

She could hear the grin on Doc Vaughn's face. "Yes. You should have." After a second, "But to answer the question you meant to ask, I'm fine and ready to talk. Are you?"

"Hold on one moment." She put her hand over the phone and said, "This is a deadly serious conversation. It's one I need to have. Please don't talk about it later, or now, and don't interrupt me for anything short of Jane being about to crash the car into a bridge abutment."

"How about if we're just going to spin onto the median?" Jane asked.

"Let me know when we're done spinning," Daria said. "We clear?"

"As cellophane," Wesley said. Jane and Oz also agreed.

"Good." She started talking into the phone again. "Sorry about that. Had to be sure the neighbors were keeping their ears to themselves."

"We can do this later," Doc Vaughn said. "When you're by yourself –"

"Not going to be by myself for that long, Doc," Daria said. "We're pushing as hard as we can and only stopping to eat and pee. Plus, of course, we're being jumped by Bringers at every opportunity, even though we now have magic helping us avoid them. Trust me, this is better."

"You're the boss."

"Try telling that to Wes, then. See how far it gets you."

"Actually, my contract is with Angel personally." Daria could still hear the grin.

"Of course it is," Daria said. "Anyway, Doc, as you've probably guessed, discussing the conditions of your employment ain't why I called."

Getting serious quickly, Doc Vaughn said, "I know. Angel and Wesley gave me a crash course in this First Evil. What has it done recently?"

And Daria explained the various dreams, and the appearance of the First this morning to her and her aunt in the Kansas City airport. She also mentioned that Oz had taught her a tiny portion of nonwestern Tai Chi.

She chuckled a bit. "Fighting meditation. Perfect."

"It's worked so far. So has the fact that I seem to have more lucid dreams than most other people and can wake myself up if things seem like they're heading in – well, that direction."

"What direction?" As though she didn't know.

"The direction of showing me what happened on the night my parents were killed," Daria said. "Reading about it was enough to trigger the rage that nearly destroyed a prison cell from the inside. Seeing it has twice come close to triggering the same rage. I pulled out of the dream, once, and it took me an hour to calm down to the point where I felt safe to go out in public. The second time I had to do the tai chi for about fifteen minutes in the middle of a convenience store parking lot. The third time he tried in, I caught on too soon, and the fourth time was when I showed up as Mom in the airport. It annoyed me, of course, but I think it bugged Aunt Amy more than it did me."

"It showed itself to your aunt?" Doc Vaughn asked.

"Yes."

"That's good."

"How the fucking hell is an undying supernatural entity unnerving my aunt deserving of being called good?"

"Because it means that the First is getting desperate." After a second, "Didn't I also hear that it hired some human assassins?"

"Yes," Daria said.

"And it started out with a dumb jock and a handful of cultists?"

"Yes –"

"It's definitely getting more desperate," Doc Vaughn said. "Means that whatever it's trying to do, it has a deadline of some sort. It's trying to stop you by a certain time."

Shit! Why hadn't she picked up on this before? "No, it isn't. It doesn't have a deadline; it has a finish line. It's trying to stop me from getting somewhere."

"Either Sunnydale or LA."

"That's what I'm thinking. Pass it on. Also, something else you said – whatever it's trying to do. It gave me a 'hint.' – "She was supposed to die in Sunnydale." Pass that around too, especially to the Sunnydale types. I'll ask around here, see if anyone can suss it out."

"No. They weren't." Jane tapped Daria on the shoulder. "Yes?"

Pointing ahead to sign that read, "Topeka, 9 miles," Jane said, "We're probably going to be finding somewhere to eat within about ten minutes or so. Just a heads-up."

Daria nodded in thanks and returned to her phone call. "Sorry about that. No. It wasn't the only reason. Oz and I discussed whether it might be a good idea for me to confront the events of that day on my own terms."

"Before the First Evil tries to force you again."

"Yes." Silence from the other end for so long Daria was wondering if she'd been disconnected. "Doc? You there?"

"I'm still here. I'm just thinking about it."

"I get that. Just try to say something while you're thinking. It doesn't have to be anything particularly articulate. A grunt or two should suffice."

"Like a pig or like a pro wrestler selling a body blow?"

"Your choice. Still thinking?"

"Still thinking," Doc Vaughn said.

"You're going to have to get back to me. Right."

"I'm afraid so. This is too complicated, too important, to settle in thirty seconds. Or even two minutes.

"Still thinking," Doc Vaughn said.

"You're going to have to get back to me. Right."

"I'm afraid so. This is too complicated, too important, to settle in thirty seconds. Or even two minutes. This was _the _event you couldn't handle."

"I'm pretty fucking aware of that," Daria said.

"I know. I'm just not sure that, even prepared, if you can go through it again."

Daria sighed. "Well, Doc, I'm leaving it in your hands. I trust you. Implicitly. If you don't think I'm ready, we'll find another way." After a second, "Just try not to dawdle."

"Well, I'd been planning to pop off to Hawaii, but I think I can hold that off."

"Smartass."

"And that's why you love me."

Daria said, "It's one of the reasons." Yeah, she did love Doc Vaughn. No one else but Angel and Jane had shown half the concern that she had, or had done half as much about it, while still respecting Daria's own opinions. She _cared_ without being all namby-pamby about it.

Doc Vaughn also knew not to push the issue. "I will think about it and get back to you as soon as I can. I promise."

"Okay. Thanks, Doc."

"Anytime."

When Daria hung up, they were off of Interstate 70 somewhere inside Topeka. "That place looks good," Jane said.

The sign up ahead said, "The Hanover Pancake House." "Daria," Wesley said. "Do you feel anything?"

Right. The spell. She'd damn-near forgotten about it. She concentrated and "saw" no indications that Bringers were anywhere within two miles. "It looks good," she said. "I'll keep checking just in case."

She did; and by the end of their meal, which was delicious (Daria eating twice as much as anyone else, of course) there were two approaching. "We've got about five minutes," she said.

"Should we wait to take them out," Cameron said, "ambush them, or just leave them here while we take off?"

"The more we take out of commission, the fewer it has," Daria said.

"If your plan is to incapacitate every single Bringer in the world," Wesley said, "You'll be at it a while."

"Not every one in the world," Daria said. "Just every one it keeps throwing at me. Aunt Amy, Jane, you stay here. Wesley? Keep an eye on them, just in case."

"Of course," Wesley said.

Cameron, Oz and Willow followed her a few blocks east to the grounds of what looked like a courthouse building. "The Bringers are over there, through the trees."

What followed - by a pond, hidden by trees, and thanks to a quick concealment spell no one wandered by - was less of a fight, and more of a destruction. Cameron, as a wolf, tore one's hamstring and then bopped it over the head after changing into an orangutan, while Daria simply clocked the other one with her flail.

They tied the Bringers up, quickly, called the police from a nearby honest-to-god pay phone, and headed back to the Hanover Pancake House.

When Daria rounded the corner, she was caught short.

Oz was standing there, Wesley was sitting up, rubbing his head, and Jane and Amy were nowhere to be seen.

"What happened?" Willow asked. Cameron went over to check on Wesley, who said he was fine, but he would like some ice and paracetamol, if Cameron would be so kind.

"Remember the time I got shot?" Oz said.

"Oh."

"Oh?" Daria asked irritably.

"This woman dressed like a cop for career day at Sunnydale High and tried to kill Buffy," Willow said.

"Order of Taraka," Daria said. It wasn't a question. "She took them?"

"Yes. With instructions that you were to walk, by yourself, three blocks in that -" Wesley pointed and winced- "direction. Weaponless of course, and you have five minutes to get there."

"Of course."

X X X X X

Within thirty seconds, she was walking down Kansas Avenue.

Two minutes later, a shot rang out and she fell to the sidewalk.


	29. Orangutang and Anaconda

_Bible punching heavyweight__  
Evangelistic boxing kangaroo__  
Orangutang and anaconda__  
Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse  
Even Pluto too_

_- Piggy in the Middle_, The Rutles

(Appropriately enough, essentially a parody of _I am the Walrus)_

X X X X X

Two and a half minutes earlier:

"Five minutes?" Daria said, asking for confirmation.

"Yes."

"That doesn't give us much time. She prefers guns?"

"Yes," Oz said.

"Cameron?" Daria asked.

"Yes?" she said. Cameron had been expecting this.

"Could you follow me into the van?"

Wesley gave a slight nod, indicating that Cameron was to follow Daria's instructions. Without another word, she went into the van. Daria was already stripping off her clothes. Quickly, Cameron removed her jumpsuit. (Ever since she'd had to return her magic clothes-protecting ring to Wolfram & Hart, she'd needed to have something she could strip off and put on quickly. Typically, she wore a jumpsuit and sneakers, only putting on more traditional clothing when the situation demanded. She'd tried, but so far had been unable to have her changed clothes include a semblance of clothing.)

She was naked underneath, but if this bothered Daria, she didn't say anything, instead handing over her shirt and leather pants, and digging through her pack for another shirt and a pair of shorts. By the time Cameron had Daria's clothing on, she'd already changed to look like her and was starting to get out of the van.

Daria's arm stopped her. "Enhance your hearing and your smell also. I don't want you killed."

"And if she starts to shoot me in the head?"

"Break cover. Like I said, I don't want you killed."

Cameron nodded and got out of the van. "Daria?" Willow asked.

"Who else would it be?" Cameron said in Daria's deadpan.

"No one. No one at all," Willow said, in a passable imitation.

As Cameron started walking down Kansas Street, she could hear Daria get out of the van and say to Oz, "With me. Willow –"

What she said to Willow, Cameron didn't hear.

Kansas Street was fairly busy, fairly noisy, and in the nature of fairly busy streets, fairly smelly, but Cameron had long since figured out how to attune her enhanced senses so they didn't overwhelm her. She was listening for someone walking up to her, and smelling for the telltale traces of a pistol. Wolfram & Hart training was thorough, if offbeat.

She was rewarded a bit over two minutes in, when she'd walked a bit over a block and a half. Behind her, someone was hurrying up, and they were carrying a pistol. She'd seen the woman as she passed, and had smelled the weapon. Not enough by itself; almost anyone could carry a gun. But running up to her when she looked like Daria, carrying a gun? Odds were that she was up to no good.

Cameron felt the weapon pressed against her back and promptly shifted into a shorter person and dropped towards the sidewalk as the gunshot whistled overhead.

People nearby began yelling. Cameron quickly changed into someone who vaguely resembled Daria but wasn't really all that close, and quickly stood up turned around. (Two inches taller, different eye color, dark brown hair, and substantially darker skin. The clothes had stretched, but still fit. Good.)

The assassin was a professional. She'd had to have been surprised when Cameron had shifted form, but she'd already stepped back and was drawing a bead on Cameron to shoot again.

But her weapon was pointed downwards, where her new form. Cameron sprang forward, forcing the weapon arm towards the street, where the second shot shattered a window in a building across the street.

This was starting to get way too public.

Cameron turned and ran, dodging hither and yon. People were running around and screaming. The assassin yelled, took another shot, cursed, and came after her as she turned down an alleyway.

She didn't have time to change clothes and she didn't want to ruin Daria's unless she had no other choice. Cameron might not have been a vampire slayer or orangutan, but she was perfectly capable of leaping for a fire escape.

Why hadn't she simply attacked the assassin as she'd come around the corner? Because you didn't get into the order of Taraka by being an idiot. Cameron figured the woman would anticipate that, and instead of planning for an immediate ambush that would have likely gotten her ambushed, decided to simply get the woman out of public view as fast as possible.

That way, Cameron could use all of her skills.

It was a five-story building and Cameron was just passing the third story when she heard a bullet rattle off of the metal of the fire escape. Another one just missed her by the time she pulled herself up onto the roof.

She'd been stripping the shirt off as she scrambled over the side and threw it down, then quickly pulled off her pants and shoes.

There was nowhere to hide, but odds were the assassin wouldn't be looking down. Cameron hated the form, but it was the only one that would work.

She became a green anaconda, one maybe twelve feet long, and slithered off to her left right as her opponent reached the roof. The woman looked around, and, not seeing anyone, began to swear.

She didn't notice Cameron. The shapeshifter waited until the assassin looked in the other direction, changed into a leopard, and leapt on her. She concentrated her immediate attack on the wrist holding the pistol and clamped down on it. The woman yelped in pain and dropped the gun.

She savaged the wrist and hand for a few more seconds until she was sure that it couldn't hold a gun, and then changed into an orangutan, promptly flinging the pistol across the alleyway onto the roof of the adjacent building, and then turning back to her opponent –

Who'd drawn a second pistol, with her other hand. Of course. Quickly, Cameron vaulted over the side of the building. When the assassin leaned over the edge herself, Cameron, who'd clung to the side of the fire escape, reached up, grabbed her gun arm, and pulled. Hard. Unprepared for the sheer strength of the assault, the woman fell over the side.

Cameron didn't let her fall all the way. She shifted internally so she could speak, though not well, and said, "Drop the pistol." The woman didn't, right away. "Pistol, you," Cameron said. "Your choice." Besides, as the woman could easily figure out, if she managed to shoot Cameron she was in for a fifty-foot drop anyway.

The pistol dropped, and clattered to the pavement five stories down.

She could hear sirens.

Cameron leapt for the edge of the roof, pulled herself up, and then the assassin. Before the woman could try anything else, Cameron shoved her down, leapt on her, and broke both of her wrists. Then she grabbed Daria's clothes and, still in orangutan form, climbed down the back of the building.

No one saw her. Good. She changed back to human form –- Dawn Summers' form, specifically – quickly put on the clothes, and began to circle back to the van.

X X X X X

"Willow," Daria said, "Keep an eye on Wes. Oz, how good's your nose now? When you're human?"

"You want me to track Jane and your aunt?" Oz said.

"Yes."

"I can do that," he said.

"Did she leave on foot, or by car?"

"By car. She forced them over in that direction," Wesley said, pointing towards Kansas Street.

"Give Cameron fifteen more seconds, and let's go."

They did so. Oz sniffed, sniffed again, and then said, "Follow me."

Just like Daria had thought, the Tarakan hadn't been fool enough to march her kidnappees directly down the road. Instead, she'd gone past Kansas Street and down an alley.

A couple of minutes later, they heard gunfire. "Are we getting closer?"

Yes," Oz said.

Another couple of minutes. "They're in there," he said.

"There" was a paid parking lot, with an attendant. "So she marched them in there at gunpoint and what? Stuffed them in her trunk?" The attendant was eyeing them suspiciously. "With him watching?"

"Could've been bribed."

"One way to find out. You keep sniffing."

Oz nodded and walked into the lot, while Daria headed towards the attendant, who was now glaring at them from inside his shack. "Do you have a car here?" he demanded. His nametag read "James."

"No."

"Then you need to-"

Daria interrupted him. Times like this, being all Faith would've been helpful. Faith could've had the guy, presuming he was straight, willing to tell her anything she wanted to know about the car, its driver, and probably could have gotten James's credit cards into the bargain. Either that, or she simply would have beat on him until he told what he knew. B, she would have asked, and then gotten violent.

Seductive wasn't Daria's style - neither Daria Faith nor Daria Lynn. Nor was starting out by beating the crap out of the guy.

"So. Middle-aged woman, short brown hair. She'd've been here in the last ten minutes or so. With two other people."

"I don't know what you're talking about," James said.

"Okay, that means you were either bribed or threatened," Daria said. "Which one?"

"I still don't know what you're talking about."

Daria sighed. "James," she said. "You don't seem like an idiot. A woman came in here, marching two other women ahead of her. This would have been at gunpoint – but you might not have been able to tell that. Shortly after, she comes back out, by herself. Now, there are three alternatives here that I can see. One, she bribed you. We can deal with that. Two, she threatened you. We can deal with that, too, but it probably won't be as much fun for you. Or three, you didn't notice for some reason. You were asleep; you were looking at a woman coming down the street; you were off taking a leak; or you are, in fact, an idiot. Here's the important thing, James. We're going to break into one of these cars and get our friends out. Now, you can call the cops if you want. I'm sure they would be delighted to hear how two kidnap victims were put in a car right under your nose. I'm sure your boss won't blame you for any of the publicity. I'm sure the customers, also, won't think about maybe parking elsewhere, where no major crimes were committed." Aunt Amy was nearby, possibly within earshot. Faith was being kept restrained.

James rolled his eyes but said, "What do you want?" tightly.

"Easy. You let us find the vehicle with our friends. You let us get our friends. You don't call the cops. And in exchange for that, we won't call the cops either. Or beat the hell out of you. And don't think that I can't do it." The last part was said with deadly calm.

"Whatever," James said. Sparkling conversationalist. Oscar Wilde would have been green with envy. Well, green with something, anyway.

Daria looked over and saw Oz standing by a van. "In there?" she said.

"Yes. And I don't think I'm strong enough to rip the doors open."

Daria got her mouth as close as possible and said, "Aunt Amy? Jane? It's us. Let us know if you're in there." Sounds from inside the van indicated that they were in the right place.

Daria took out her flail and broke out the front window, dodging the falling glass, then reached in and unlocked it.

The back was closed off from the inside. Daria guessed it wasn't the assassin's first time kidnapping friends to get her victims to be nice and cooperative. Fortunately, though it was closed, it was only closed with a door, which was simply closed, not locked. She went through and found Aunt Amy and Jane, gagged and cuffed to rails along the side. She snapped the cuffs, kicked open the back door – Oz had to jump back to avoid getting hit – and took them out. Then, as she removed the gags, she whistled and caught James' attention. Then she pointed to Amy and Jane.

James paled and retreated into his shack. He wouldn't give them any more problems.

As the gags were removed, Daria asked, "Are you two okay?"

"Fine and dandy," her aunt said sarcastically. "I can't think when I've had a more relaxing time."

"I could put you back," Daria said.

Aunt Amy glared. Jane said, "Thanks, but ten minutes or so is just about enough."

"Did she hurt you?" Oz asked.

Jane said, "No."

"Good."

Aunt Amy also allowed as she hadn't been physically injured, beyond being quickmarched three blocks, handcuffed, and thrown in the back of a van. Daria could hardly fault her for grumbling.

Sincerely, Daria said to both Jane and Amy, "I'm glad you're okay. Seriously." Slight grins and sighs of relief all around.

They left the lot after Daria took a knife and slashed the van's tires – assuming the Tarakan came back to it, Daria didn't want it usable.

"What happened to our kidnaper?" Jane asked.

"I don't know yet. I left her to Cameron Kim."

"She's that good?" Aunt Amy asked.

"She was able to fool most of Buffy's friends at close quarters for a couple of days," Daria said. "And these are people who'd known Dawn Summers for years." Daria didn't think Dawn being the Key was particularly relevant at the moment. "Fooling a woman who's seen me only in a photo or two wouldn't have been a problem at all."

They began to circle back towards the Hanover Pancake House. Along the way, they ran into Cameron Kim, looking like, yes, Dawn Summers.

Kim explained what had happened in her encounter with the Tarakan. "Well," Daria said when the shapeshifter was done, "That explains why my pants and shirt are covered in ape hair."

"Yeah. Sorry about that."

"Yes. Because I think we all would have preferred that my pants be clean and that the assassin get away."

"Or, possibly, not?" Jane said.

Exaggerating a sigh, Daria said, "Very well. I'll accept this as a work-related hazard," and took her clothing.

The shirt was, for the moment, a loss; the one she was wearing was dirty, but it wasn't like they could hang around here to take a trip to a Laundromat. Maybe at the next stop.

The pants were salvageable, which was good, 'cause nohow was she riding her bike out of here in shorts. Slayers were tough, but skid out with bare knees and you'd see just where that toughness ended.

They made it back to the Hanover Pancake House parking lot by about 10:40 AM. Wes and Willow were there, waiting.

"Good! You're back," Willow said. "And you're all okay."

"Good," Daria said. "The clothes hide our gaping chest wounds."

"And quite well," Wesley said.

"You got a gaping chest wound?" Aunt Amy said, apparently having recovered her equilibrium. "All I got was a fractured wrist."

"I leapt off a tall building in a single bound," Cameron said.

"I feel woefully inadequate," Wesley said. "I simply got hit in the back of the skull with a pistol."

"I've spent the last five minutes explaining how Giles is going to sue him for copyright infringement," Willow said.

Oz and Daria smiled at that; Cameron Kim, Jane, and Aunt Amy looked confused. "Inside joke," Willow said. "Giles, that's Buffy's Watcher, seems to get hit in the head a lot, to the point that we're now making jokes about renaming the head trauma ward at Sunnydale General the Rupert Giles wing."

"And I'm delighted to be part of such a grand tradition," Wesley said.

"Oz?" Daria asked. "Could you help me with the bike?"

Working together, they got Daria's motorcycle out of the back of Oz's van, though her stuff, minus the flail, cell phone, and _Dhalgren_, stayed.

"Next stop?" Oz asked. She was riding with Oz, while Cameron Kim was driving Aunt Amy's car.

Before Daria could answer, Willow said, "The Twilight Zone?" impishly.

"I think we passed that back somewhere in West Virginia," Aunt Amy said.

"Too bad," Daria said. "Because the only thing missing from my last few days has been narration by Rod Serling."

"If Topeka is a wondrous land whose boundaries are that of imagination," Aunt Amy said, "You couldn't prove it by me."

"But the pancakes were good," Oz said.

Daria cut off a retort by saying. "Two more Bringers just came in range. And given what happened last time –"

She didn't need to finish the sentence. They were back on Interstate 70 and heading west within about 5 minutes.


	30. If

Patrice groaned in pain, weaponless, on the top of a building in Topeka. Her wrists were shattered, and so was her chance to kill this Slayer.

She wasn't worried about her long-term prospects as a member of the Order; she'd had too many successes to have one failure, even a spectacular one as this, cost her everything.

But the healing, the effort to get her out of jail, they would cost her. Her next few jobs would be reimbursed expenses only.

Here came the police, up the fire escape. She'd already heard them discover her backup pistol in the alley below, with her fingerprints all over it, so they had charges and evidence, and plenty of witnesses.

At least, for the moment, they had witnesses.

Well, she'd learned her lesson. From now on, she wasn't going to try to go after Slayers.

No, she'd stick to safe victims, like demons.

X X X X X

The First Evil, gathering its energy from the In-Dark, was not pleased by the lack of success of the two assassins from the Order of Taraka. The one, the woman, was so badly injured she would be worthless. The other one, the male, had also failed, but was now back on the trail of his potential victim. Still, they had both underestimated the Slayer, to their detriment.

Many, many beings had underestimated Slayers throughout history, up through Glorificus, who, in terms of sheer power, should have been able to destroy the Slayer and her allies in under a minute, and the only reason The First was allowing that long was because the Slayer's ally the witch was rapidly approaching Power level herself.

More and more, it was beginning to seem to the First like it might have missed its best opportunity, early on, before the Slayer had any allies except for the one normal human – and she would have been incapable of fighting off a single Bringer, never mind assisting the Slayer against an army of them.

That had been the First's error. Now the Slayer was traveling with six others, four of whom could be of significant assistance in a battle. The Watcher, the wolf, the shapeshifter and the witch were all capable of inflicting considerable damage.

Linda Griffin had thirty Bringers with her. There would be at least twenty or thirty others at her selected gathering place by the time the Slayer would get there, and it had ordered every one remotely in range to proceed there at top speed, ignoring all other objectives and doing whatever they had to to get there.

In the meantime, it would quickly suggest to Linda Griffin, when she landed, that she attempt to recruit local demon hit squads, as well. The more they had, the better its chances.

It was almost time to bring in Caleb.

If the attack in Utah was a failure –

He would be brought to California.

By that point, there would be no choice.

X X X X X

Flattop Jones was mad. The broad had swiped his tommy gun, crushed his rod, emptied his wallet, and left him trussed like a pig headed for slaughter.

Lucky for him, the first person to find him – the man whose car he'd been chucked behind - had been too nice for their own good. Instead of screaming for the cops, the man had untied him and only then had taken out his cell phone to call them.

Flattop couldn't let the man do that. He whacked him over the head with a sap the Slayer had missed, took the phone and the man's cash – leaving the wallet itself - and drove off in his car, after tying him up.

He should've killed the man, but Flattop hated to kill someone when he wasn't being paid for it, and besides, the man had set him free.

He'd have a couple of hours in this car, and with this phone, before he had to switch off. He called a source of his, who promised to have a pair of replacement pistols waiting for him at a drop somewhere on the outskirts of Topeka. Then, at the next rest stop, he broke the phone at the hinges, smashed it beneath his boot, wiped it clean, and tossed the pieces into separate trash cans.

There would be no replacement tommy gun, though. That, he was going to take back from the woman who'd stolen it from him, and then he was going to use it to end her life.

He would have cooled down by then, though. Anger made you stupid. Yeah, he was boiling at the way the Slayer had treated him – instead of killing him, she'd just tried to embarrass him and leave him helpless.

Her mistake, and one she wouldn't live to make again.

X X X X X

Daria was glad to be back on her bike, by herself. She was more social than she'd once been as Daria – hell, there were hermits who were more social than that – but she still appreciated time that she could be alone.

Reading would've been her first option, but this was a pretty good second choice, just her and her thoughts. Yeah, she was good at torturing herself – both halves were pretty damn good at that, come to think of it – but she wasn't doing that, now. She had no reason to.

She was not the reason Amy and Jane had been kidnapped. (She might've been the reason they were on the trip in the first place, but that wasn't the topic at hand anyhow.) She was not the reason her parents and sister had been killed, no matter how much Willard Jay Harbaugh and the First tried to convince her she was. (And speaking of, why hadn't the First showed up as him yet? It wanted her pissed enough to chew nails and spit out rivets, that'd've done it. But no. Not that she was complaining. Hell, let the bastard spin its wheels. She was hardly going to advise it otherwise.)

She was not the reason for most of this. Neither she, nor Daria Lynn, nor Faith.

So she had no reason to think about "what she could have done" to make things better, except as a counterfactual, intellectual exercise. And, fun as alternate histories were – Daria liked Harry Turtledove and Faith had been a huge fan of Marvel's old What If – thinking about what could have happened wasn't going to be very helpful right now.

That would have been the best thing (for it) the First could've done: not had Jake, Helen, or Quinn give her hell, but simply showed her what she could have missed, if.

If.

Nothing to be done about if now.

Or ever.

Dammit.

Okay.

Back to now.

X X X X X

Willow sat next to Amy Barksdale in the back seat, with Cameron Kim driving and Wesley sitting next to her. Wesley wasn't showing any signs of a concussion, and believe you me, Willow had figured out what those were in the years of dealing with head injuries to Giles, Buffy, and Xander. That just left him with a nasty bruise, and boy would it be a bad bruise, but it wouldn't leave a permanent mark, unlike the scar down Tara's left arm, which was long and nasty and would never go away.

Willow had asked Tara if she wanted to maybe hide it with magic, because, you know, they could do that, and Tara had said no, because that was a little too close to purely personal gain, and she preferred not to be selfish with her magic. "And anyway, it looks kind of cool," she'd said.

Her choice, Willow had said, and had let it go, although just for kicks had been studying cosmetic spells. Maybe she'd surprise Tara with it for her next birthday.

Anyway, they were all, even Amy Barksdale for the outsider's perspective, trying to figure out what the First Evil might have meant when she'd told Daria that "she was supposed to die in Sunnydale."

"It looked like Glorificus at the time," Wesley said. "Therefore, we are assuming that it is discussing the hellgod herself."

"Well, we're first making the assumption that a manifestation of ultimate evil is actually telling us the truth in the first place," Amy said.

"Yep, we are," Willow said, "'cause assuming it's lying through its teeth, why? What would it get by lying to us?"

"We're spending time thinking about what it meant instead of figuring out how to beat it?" Cameron said.

Right. There was that. "Good point," Willow said. "But I think we can do both."

"Besides," Wesley said, "Strictly speaking, it's no more possible to defeat the First Evil than it is to defeat the wind. The most you can do is reduce its influence and protect yourself and others."

"That wasn't exactly what I meant, boss," Cameron said. "It still might be a waste of time trying to figure out a vague sentence when we could be doing more practical things."

Amy Barksdale said, "I agree with you that I think the First is jerking us around, but I don't know what else practical I could be doing right now. I can't become any animal I want, I can't do magic, and I don't have years of training in obscure magical beasties. If Daria were here, I could try to comfort her, assuming she needed and wanted the comforting. As it is, I'm more or less limited to color commentary."

"You're good at that," Willow said.

"Thanks, but I wasn't fishing for compliments. I was simply saying that while I agree that the First Evil can't be trusted, there's no harm, right this second, in trying to hash out what it might have meant, if it were telling the truth, because right now there's not a whole hell of a lot else we can do."

"Okay, then," Willow said. "Wesley, you were saying something about making assumptions?"

"Yes. As the First had assumed the form of Glorificus, 'she was supposed to die in Sunnydale' was presumed to refer to her. But I can't see how where she died would make any difference to the First."

"Well, by killing her in Lawndale we guaranteed that Dawn wouldn't be anywhere near it," and then explained, for Amy and Wesley's benefit, "Cameron here impersonated Dawn for most of the trip from Sunnydale to Lawndale."

"And thus, that there was no chance of Glorificus opening her gateway home."

"Could someone else come through this gateway?" Amy asked.

Wesley said, "Yes. That, I believe, was the fear about allowing Glorificus to return home, was that demons and other creatures from various dimensions could use it as well, and come through in our world - or Glorificus', for that matter. But the First is not a creature, by those standards, and its home dimension, called the In-Dark, is inaccessible to anyone save itself."

And, anyway, it would be trying to find the Key and use it if that was its ride home," Willow said. "Assuming it doesn't know where it is already." And, given that it knew anything the dead did, and that Cameron, Buffy and Spike all qualified, it probably did. Willow explained her reasoning, and everyone agreed.

"So let's expand the pronoun. The First wasn't talking about Glory, and it wasn't talking about Dawn," Wesley said.

"That leaves Anya, Tara, Daria, Buffy, and me," Willow said. "If we'd never left Sunnydale neither Cameron nor Dr. Vaughn would have been with us."

"Yeah, but it wouldn't have called Daria she. It was talking right to her. It would have said you."

"Good point, but any of the other deaths could have thrown things off kilter," Amy said. "Right? I don't know who all of these people are, exactly, but I'm guessing you're all more or less friends. Who knows which death might have benefited the First somehow?"

Amy was right. If Anya had died, it would have thrown Xander into a funk and would have upset everyone else; the same was (she hoped!) true of her; and Buffy and Tara, well, Buffy's death would have sent everyone over the edge, and Tara's death would have definitely put Willow on tilt. "You're right," Willow said. "I tend to think it would have been Buffy or Tara because of," she sighed, "Because of me."

"Why because of you?" Amy asked, with slight skepticism. Well, Willow supposed to someone not fully versed in everything that was going on, it might have seemed slightly egotistical, and maybe it was. But in terms of sheer power, Willow was at or close to the top of the list in terms of Sunnydale denizens now that Glory was gone. That didn't require arrogance, simply an acknowledgment of the facts.

"Because if Tara or Buffy had died, I would have done almost anything to get them back," Willow said.

"Would this include methods perhaps best not explored?"

Willow wasn't particularly fond of that phrasing. There wasn't much that couldn't be safely explored if you knew what you were doing. Still, this wasn't the time to get into a fight over wording. "It would include some methods requiring a good deal of power and knowledge, yes."

Wesley stiffened slightly, but didn't argue. "Hmmm. Perhaps up to and including resurrection?"

"Hold on," Amy said. "You can bring people back from the dead?"

"It's possible, but extremely hazardous," Wesley said. "Both to the one resurrected and to the one doing the resurrecting. We're not talking about simply reviving someone as a zombie, which is much easier and less dangerous but does not actually bring the person back to life." After a second, "And no, we are not talking about George Romero-type zombies. Those are, properly speaking, ghouls, and no sane and very few insane casters bring them back. And, in any event, that is well off the subject. Willow, does that include resurrections?"

"Maybe. I wouldn't know unless it happens, but I can certainly see trying to do something like that."

Cameron said, "If just bringing someone back from the dead was enough, then the First would have gotten its way a long time ago. Even if you don't count the way I was brought back to life, there has to be someone in the past who was brought back using some of these spells, right?"

"Odds are, yes," Wesley said. "And that's a good point. However, I can think of one type of being who has never been brought back to life after dying, until quite recently."

"Slayers," Willow said, not as a question.

"Yes. No Slayer in recorded history was ever brought back from the dead until Buffy a few years ago."

"How about witches?" Willow asked.

"Witches are a lot more common," Wesley said. "No offense. While I don't know for certain – perhaps we could ask Mr. Giles to look the matter up for us – I think it statistically far more likely that a witch or two has been resurrected in the past than that a Slayer has. If a witch returning to life were sufficient for the First's purposes, it would have accomplished its aims a long time ago."

"So, Buffy," Cameron said.

"Yes."

"So," Amy said, "If the First Evil told Daria the truth in the first place; if the she in question was not in fact this Glory, and was instead one of the other shes who happened to have been around; if the First wasn't simply trying to find 'the Key'; if it's not Dr. Vaughn, or Cameron, if it's not Willow or one of the other women; if it's Buffy; and if the First wanted Buffy brought back to life and wasn't planning to capitalize on her death for some other reason, then, and only then, have we come up with the answer of what 'she was supposed to die in Sunnydale' means. Right?"

"Well, when you put it that way, it does seem as though we've gone out on a limb," Wesley said, a bit sheepishly.

"Out on a limb? From where we've gotten, we can't even see the tree," Amy said.

"Is it better than what we had before we started?" Cameron asked, a bit pointedly. Right. She hadn't been in favor of the speculation in the first place.

"Well, we thought about it," Willow said. "And we came to a kind of conclusion, I think, you know, that we can at least be pretty sure that the First wasn't talking about Glory, Dr. Vaughn, or Cameron Kim."

"That seems reasonable," Amy said.

"Then I have one more if," Willow said. "If we're right, and yeah, I'll give you it's a big whopping series of ifs, but if the First wants Buffy dead and assumes I'd do whatever it took to bring her back to life, why? What would it gain by that?"

No one had an answer for that. She hadn't expected one.


End file.
